A Story Untold
by weepingwillow131415
Summary: This is a story of the Hunger Games, but with my own characters and my own plot. It follows Roia Lovette, a girl from District 8, and her experience in the arena as she battles love, loss, and her own desire to live. Enjoy! And please REVIEW!
1. Chapter One

**Hi, and thanks for giving my story a chance! So, this is my own take on The Hunger Games, with my own characters and my own story, but the same world Suzanne Collins so masterfully created. If you have any troubles with pronunciation, don't be afraid to ask me, because I did make up most of the names in this story. And don't be afraid to remind me to update, because I just might forget occasionally. ****And I'd like to know what you think of the length of each chapter: too long and boring, too short and leaving you wanting more, just so I have an idea of what you guys want.**** Now I don't want to bore you with too much introduction here, so go ahead and start reading! And don't hesitate to review!**

**Enjoy :D**

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><p><strong>Chapter<strong> One

After a week of preparation, the moment we have all been dreading has finally come. Though I had been hoping and praying that something, anything, would stop, or at least postpone this, the show is still on. I knew the biggest event in Panem was inevitable.

Up until this point, the only thing I could feel was fear. The Capitol and its grandness, the thought of leaving my family and never going back, the barbarity of the Games; it all terrified me. And I thought that terror would stick until my very last minutes. I had expected to be trembling with the thought of dying, of witnessing someone's death, of causing it. I pictured myself frozen with terror, unable to function, and being killed before I even had the chance to step off my metal circle. Or, if I actually managed to escape the bloodbath, that I would immediately fall prey to another tribute's trap or a poisonous plant or wild animal.

The point is that I didn't expect to be chosen, didn't plan on it, but since the moment my name was drawn from that reaping ball, I knew I didn't stand a chance. As Insilvia Rhoad stood before the entire town, smiling in her silly Capitol way, I never for an instant thought that my name would be picked.

With hair that reminds me of honey the way it falls so smoothly over her shoulder, she picked a slip of paper from the ball and perkily recited the name of the girl tribute. I started looking around to find the unlucky winner, but no one moved a muscle. I soon noticed that every single face was turned towards me, each wearing a different emotion: pity, sorrow, worry, relief, surprise. I replayed the last few seconds in my head and found that yes, my name had been called, and I was the one expected to walk up the steps to the stage. But I was frozen. I felt dizzy and confused but, after a few prods and shoves from the kids around me, somehow made my way out of the crowd to take my place beside the District's most recent winners: Ina Pascell, who won her Hunger Games purely by chance, and Zed Horrow, who gathered as much food from the bloodbath as he could, then hid out in a remote cave until there was only one person left to kill.

The whole thing felt like a dream to me. The world around me was a blur as the boy tribute was named and he took the stage next to me. In fact, I didn't even see who it was until we arrived in the Capitol. It felt like in no time we were taken to the Justice Building to say our final goodbyes to our loved ones.

My parents came first. They hugged me and told me they loved me. That I had a good chance at coming back if I tried my hardest and remembered to have faith in myself. I didn't believe them, I still don't, but I just nodded and kissed them and told them I'd really try. My best friend Ella visited next, and I could tell she'd been crying. We hugged and sobbed and talked for a while, but altogether avoided the word 'goodbye'. It's too painful a thing to say, so we just comforted each other until our time ran out and she was ushered away. That was it for visitors for me; I don't know many people.

After that, we were taken to the train that would bring us to the Capitol. Once in the bright-colored, shining city, we went through the initial chariot ride, which is more or less to give the audience a preview of the tributes, and the days of training for the Games. During that time, I discovered that I have no coordination and am not handy with a knife, spear, sword, or bow and arrow. As for my interview, Zed and Ina told me to aim for charming, but I turned out to be boring and unenthusiastic, which did nothing to win the crowd's favor. Then we were transported to the site of the arena in a train with darkened windows, dressed in our preset outfits, and lifted through clear tubes to where I am now. Where I have sixty seconds to think of all the reasons why I probably won't win.

I have never considered myself a contender in these Games. Coming from the middle class section of District 8, which is still relatively well off, I am not used to being hungry, which poses a major problem in the arena. I may not know what's going to happen in there, but I can be sure I won't be handed a steaming plate of food every night.

Also, even though I'm not eighteen yet and don't work in the District business, it wouldn't help me anyway. Textiles. Learning about how to press the right buttons and pull the right levers that make the machines do the work for you doesn't exactly prepare a person for a life-threatening experience. And, because it is what District 8 is known for, textiles are our main focus in school, so I have no valuable knowledge to show for.

As well as being bereft of useful skills, I am also an easily disregarded person. I am quiet and diffident and find it hard to make new friends, or even approach people. I haven't said a word to anyone but Insilvia, District 8's escort, Viati, my stylist, and Zed and Ina, my mentors and the district's latest victors, since I arrived in the Capitol, and even that was no more than what was necessary: a simple 'hello', 'please', or 'thank you'.

I'm not remarkably beautiful or menacing and dangerous. My stylist didn't create for me a stunning outfit that would make me remembered. My interview failed to leave the audience on the edges of their seats or make them well up with emotions. My training score was mediocre, if that, and far from memorable.

To state it simply I am forgettable. And when you're in the Hunger Games, that could mean the difference between life and death. If you don't stand out, or at least make some kind of impression, you won't get sponsors. And that little silver parachute could be the reason for your survival in these Games.

Basically, just by being who I am and living where I live my chances of survival decrease by about seventy five percent. I can use all the help I can get. But, seeing as I can't change any of those factors, especially now that I've reached the point of no return, I'm a sure goner.

I look around at faces of the tributes around me. Arranged in a wide diamond surrounding the Cornucopia, twenty-four boys and girls anxiously await the sound of the gong that will free us from these plates. Across from me at the tip of the diamond is Ross, the boy from my district, while I stand one person away from the opposing point. I catch his eye for a moment and he gives me a small smile and wink. To anyone else it would be undetectable, look like no more than a slight twitch, but the sight of it brings tears to my eyes. I desperately hope that it doesn't come down to the two of us, that someone else will kill him before I have to. Unless I'm dead before I have to face him.

We didn't know each other before the reaping, but it didn't seem to matter. From the very start, Ross has been more kind and caring than anyone else since I left home. He was immediately open and comfortable with me, and we became instant friends. It seems like he never stops smiling; even here, in the arena of all places, he managed to fit one in. For me. And, I'm not sure, because I've never had a boyfriend or been in love before, but it seems like…he likes me. Not just as a friend, but more; I think he likes me especially. It's a strange feeling for me, particularly because I'm not sure how I feel about him, and I only met him a week ago. I know that I already feel at ease when I'm with him, and he makes me feel good. But the whole thing, the idea of love, is confusing to me. And the fact that both of us can't live anyway, even if we had real feelings for each other, complicates things more, so I've chosen to forget about it. So far, that plan isn't working too well, but I'm trying.

Time seems to stop as the sixty seconds drag on and I really take a look at my surroundings. This year will not work towards the favor of many. An empty, rocky tundra stretches before me, reaching all the way to the horizon, and I see a tall mountain looming in the mist behind it. Spots of dark greenish-grey grass and the occasional shrub or bush litter the ground, ruffled by the steady breeze blowing through. My spirits drop at the landscape and I realize that I'm already starting to feel chilled. The deep pine-colored jumpsuits they chose for us will do little to keep us warm, though they reflect some body heat, and these sturdy, ankle-high sneakers won't be of much assistance in navigating this rocky terrain. Though these outfits do seem to be waterproof, which makes me wonder.

I notice the girl to my left, the large one from District 7, Ace I think, is counting to herself. I vaguely remember her from her interview. She was huge and strong and determined, and she seems to be just so now. I glance over to see that she's just reached forty-seven, and I brace myself for the inevitable moment when she will say sixty, and I'll have to leave the safety of my metal circle.

Across the way, I see a few tributes, probably Careers by the looks of them, poised to run straight for the Cornucopia, right into the bloodbath. I shudder at the thought of even attempting such a thing. How could they bear to risk their lives for a few supplies and weapons? They have no way of knowing if they'll get out alive or not. Though I suppose, if they were to make it out, it would surely be with a heap of food and artillery, and they would have a much better chance of surviving than if they avoided the bloodbath altogether. _Maybe the Careers minds aren't as twisted as I thought_.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I am not going into the bloodbath. I would not last more than two minutes. It would be more of a suicide attempt than an act of bravery for someone of my aptitude and stature. It would be pointless and useless and would only help all the others by eliminating just one more opponent. I am not going to the Cornucopia. Zed and Ina strictly forbade it.

I listen again for the girl counting and hear her mutter the number fifty-five. I turn to face away from the Cornucopia and position myself in a running stance. Then I focus only on the numbers. _Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…_

The gong rings out and I take off running down the open tundra. Adrenaline courses through my veins and the wind whisks my hair across my face, nearly blinding me, but I keep going at full speed. Then I realize that I didn't even think to grab something to help me. I skid to a stop and turn around, running back to my metal circle. I grab the first thing I see: the bottle of water that was lying near where I was standing. It doesn't feel like enough, so I dare to quickly run forward and take a small knife that's a few yards away. Everyone's running around like madmen, rushing to get what supplies they can and get away unscathed. Closer to the Cornucopia, the fighting has begun, and already two people lie dead on the ground. The enormous meal I inhaled this morning threatens to resurface as weapons are drawn and blood spilled before me. I quickly look away; heaving all over an enemy is probably not the most efficient way to defeat them, and definitely not a way to get sponsors. I try hard to swallow the absolute horror I've already witnessed, as well as my breakfast and take a deep breath.

As I'm about to turn away I see that the boy from District 5 is barreling away from Ross and towards me at a frightening speed, a long, sharp spear in one hand and two, long knives in the other. The first thing that comes to mind is, _I am going to die_. I take off running, surprised I can even move with how terrified I am, but almost immediately stumble on the uneven stones of the tundra, falling to my knees and scraping my hands. I turn to see the boy has just about reached me and scramble to my feet in panic. Just as I take my first step, I feel a sharp pain in my side as his spear slices through my jumpsuit before I watch it fly past me and clatter on the ground. I hesitate for only a moment, then quickly snatch up the weapon, along with the water bottle and knife that I dropped when I fell, and sprint away. I can hear his enraged screaming as he chases after me, two knives still in his possession. After a few seconds though, his footsteps slow and then fade until I'm sure he is no longer pursuing me. It's not worth it to chase me so far when he probably wants to get some supplies from the bloodbath.

I don't stop though. Pure terror drives me as I go, madly running across the wide tundra, legs pumping and heart pounding, tears stinging my cheeks as the wind burns them into my face. I only allow myself to stop about an hour later, when the horror has finally worn away some and the wound the boy from District 5 inflicted on me has begun to damper my speed. The initial pain of the cut has turned to a burning sensation that throbs in time with my heartbeat and I can feel the blood that was running down the side of my body earlier has dried.

I slow to a walk and stop to rest by a large rock, using it as a chair to sit on. I'm breathing hard, taking in quick painful gasps of air, and know it will take a long time to catch my breath. A time passes where my only thoughts are of trying to regain my energy.

Then it finally gets to me. The whole situation. And I can't stop the heavy flow of tears that starts pouring from my eyes. I slide to the ground, burying my face in my lap and drawing my knees to me. I sob for a while, soaking my suit, only afterward realizing that I was being exceptionally loud and could have given away my position to other tributes.

When my body is drained of fluid and I cannot possibly cry another tear, I wipe my face and try to calm myself with deep breathing. _Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale. In…out. Slowly…_

Soon enough, I'm breathing normally and calmed down enough that the stabbing pain in my right side has become severely prominent again, and it now causes me to wince at the slightest movements. Little by little, I edge the jumpsuit down over my wound, until I'm only in my undershirt and the bottom of the suit, while the top of it hangs down from my hips. I have to force myself to look down because I'm afraid I'll faint from the blood, but when I do, I know it would have been worse if I hadn't looked.

There's a long, slanted gash about six inches long right at the curve of my waist, but thankfully it's not too deep. I can tell a few buckets worth of blood came from it and about half of it is dried all along the side of my body. My hand trembles as I carefully remove my undershirt from the sticky, red mess and try to figure out how I'm going to patch this up without any first aid. Then I remember the water bottle I picked up before the boy from District 5 charged me. It's lying on its side a few feet away; I must have dropped when I collapsed in tears.

I retrieve it and am about to pour it over my wound when my good judgment stops me. If this is the only water I have I shouldn't be wasting it on an injury. It would be of much better use if I drank it. As I've noticed in past Games, water is a necessity. In arenas like this, where there's no obvious water source, many of the deaths in the first few days are caused by dehydration. Most people are so preoccupied with staying hidden and making sure they have plenty of food and weapons that they easily forget about the fact that they are going to need water. But it's usually too late by the time they realize that.

My highest priority now is finding a source of water. Before it's too late for me too.

I uproot a handful of the thick clump of grass at my feet and carefully use it to wipe away some of the blood. It is so excruciatingly painful that I can only stand it for a few seconds, though. The slight pressure of the greens on my wound sends ripples of pain through my body, and it's all I can do not to burst into tears again. Shaking and sore, I toss the red-stained grass to the side, not even thinking to conceal the evidence of my whereabouts.

I decide it's best to leave my cut alone now; anything else will only cause me more pain, and I don't know of anything that would help me anyway. I'll deal with it later, when I have more water to clean it with. Though my undershirt and jumpsuit have gashes nearly identical to the one in my skin, I slip them back on anyway and try to ignore the slight breeze. I'm thankful that the boy's spear didn't tear up my whole suit, then I would surely freeze to death.

I take a small sip of water to last me, take my knife, spear and bottle in hand and begin my journey, trying my best to ignore the pain. My first thought is, I'm amazed that no one followed me. I'd have thought I'd be long dead by now, especially considering how loud my sobbing must have been. But, I suppose everyone went their separate ways and are doing the same as me: trying to get as far away from the Cornucopia and their opponents as possible. So I guess I'm safe. For now anyway. I still try my best to keep a sharp eye out for any signs of life, though, just in case.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter **Two**

Walking headed for the ominous, fog-shrouded mountain feels good, in a strange way. It gives me a sense of direction, makes me feel like I'm actually going somewhere, because there's something to guide me. I make sure to keep my eyes firmly focused on the towering landmass so that I don't accidentally change course or lose my faint sense of where I am in comparison to the Cornucopia. I know that, in almost every Games, the tributes are eventually forced back to their starting point due to lack of interest from the people of the Capitol or because of a feast, so it's best if I know how to find my way there.

Suddenly a piercing shriek from behind startles me and I whip around, spear extended and knife at the ready, dropping my water bottle as I try to free my hands. No one is there. No one is anywhere near me. Confused, I remain in a defensive stance, but scan the surrounding area for any hidden tributes. I bet any of them could easily be hiding in a bush, or camouflaged to the ground.

It's times like this that I have to remember to believe in myself. Even though, deep down, I know I'm not a fighter, a hunter, a killer or extremely clever or sharp, I have to shun those thoughts for a few moments and play pretend. Because I know I have a much better chance of surviving if I try and make myself believe I can do anything. So I fill my head with only false compliments and encouragements and prepare for a real fight.

The same high-pitched scream rings out again and this time I can tell it's very far away. Disappointed but relieved, I lower my weapons and relax slightly. If I squint hard in the direction of the noise I can just see the shine of the golden horn in the distance, just make out the little moving specks that can only be the remaining tributes of the bloodbath. Even hours later, they are still fighting for those precious supplies. I know I can't linger here much longer, so I pick up my bottle and continue on.

As I walk along, a few rabbits and little white mice scurry across my path, but I just leave them alone. I have no idea how I would manage to catch one, let alone kill one. Then I have to stop myself. How am I going to survive, even if I do find water, if I can't bring myself to kill anything? I'm going to have to eat eventually; in fact, my stomach already feels empty and is calling for nourishment. I try to ignore the feeling and quicken my pace to keep myself occupied.

A long while later I'm still traveling in the same direction, yet nothing has changed. It looks as though I haven't moved an inch from where I was five hours ago. The rocks, the dreary grass, the small sporadic shrubs, they're all the same. The only way I can tell that all this walking wasn't just a figment of my imagination is because the mountain is larger and therefore closer than before. As I travel further, though, a slight, strange sort of excitement builds in me. I want to know what is waiting for me at the end of this journey. I want to discover the surprises the mountain holds deep inside. I suddenly crave adventure, and cannot wait to reach that grand mountain.

Soon enough, the sun is sinking below the horizon and the air is cooling off. I'm shivering by the time it's fully set, and the eerie darkness is already frightening me. I jump at the slightest sound and glance over my shoulder at least twice a minute, and now the mountain's shadowy form only sets me on edge. The night has me running rather than walking now, and though it makes me feel like I'm getting away from the creatures lurking in the dark, it also means the shrubs are coming at me faster, so I repeatedly trip on them, only scaring myself further.

A short time passes where the running, my fear of unknown darkness, the biting cold, and my aching, raw wound wear me out, my energy draining. I come across a relatively large bush with a soft, or as soft as such dead-looking stuff gets, patch of grass around it, and decide it's a fine enough place to rest for the night. First, though, I circle the shrub a few times to calm my heart rate and breathing. I learned in the health education class at school that it's better to stop vigorous exercise gradually, rather than sprinting a few miles (like I just did) then abruptly halting to sit down and do nothing. I settle down by the bush, trying to fit myself inside of it to hide while I sleep, but the branches keep snapping back and whapping me in the face.

I hear the anthem play, and know that in a few moments the faces of the tributes that were killed today will flash in the sky above me. My eyes trained on the ground, I wait until the anthem plays again, and the sky goes dark. I wouldn't be able to handle looking at the people who are already gone. Part of me thinks it's just because I don't want to see the faces of the dead, but another part thinks it's because I'm afraid of seeing Ross up there. I've tried to stop caring, but I still don't want him to die. That is going to be one of my many weaknesses throughout the Games.

I try my best to keep quiet, but the cracking of the boughs and rustling of the leaves caused by my uncontrollable shaking refuse to be silenced. My trembling was originally because of the frigid night air, but now it is also because I am petrified that someone is going to find me and kill me without giving it a thought. And there are so many things I still want to do.

But, now that I think about it, I have no real dreams for my life. I can't. My future, like everyone else's, has already been set in stone by the Capitol. By President Snow. The only decision that is really mine to make is who I marry, and even that privilege could be taken away from me. If I were to fall in love at a young age, the one I love's name could be drawn at the reaping, and I would almost certainly never see him again. To have someone you care about ripped away from you like that… I couldn't go through that again. I don't know if my heart could take it.

It happened five years ago, I was almost eleven, and the leaves were just starting to brown and fall from the trees. It was early September, so school had just begun, and things were hectic. Preparing for the new academic year was the least of our worries at the time; we had to focus all of our energy on the family business. Trying to get the shop in order for the surge in customers that come around that time every year is a hassle, so us children have to help out too.

My family runs the town flower shop, and though it's not the most popular or essential store, we manage to take in enough money to get by. We live in the smallish space just above the shop, so the smell of fresh, sweet flowers always fills our home, brightening our spirits and pleasing our senses. Whenever a bouquet gets too browned or wilted to sell, since they're usually still mostly unharmed, we put the flowers in a vase and take them upstairs to add a splash of color to our plain house. And sometimes, on special occasions, Dad will buy us a small, perfectly unwilted arrangement for the center of our dinner table.

Mory would always pick the fullest, most dazzling flower and tuck it behind my ear on those days. Then he would smile at me, his smile was so brilliant, and say, "There. Even the most beautiful flower of the bunch isn't anywhere near as beautiful as you." Then he would sigh as if I were the most amazing person he had ever met and tell me that I was going to be a magnificent woman when I grew up.

I was such a little girl then, and he treated me like a princess. I relied on my big brother like a parent, because he was always there when they weren't. He would help me get ready for school in the morning, brush my hair for me, and he taught me everything they didn't tell me in school. He cooked my dinner, played games with me, and basically took full care of me. I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone else, but, of course, I couldn't keep him.

When school ended that Tuesday five years ago, only the second week back since the close of summer, I went to our usual meeting spot by the big willow. At the end of every school day, I would meet Mory by the willow outside the door so we could walk home together. Normally he was already there, waiting for me with a dandelion from the ground. But that day, he was nowhere, so I stood and waited like I knew I should. _Maybe he's just running late, _I thought. But I knew something was wrong.

After about twenty minutes of agonizing waiting, Mom eventually showed up to walk me home. She didn't say a word, just took my hand in hers and quickly led me along. I asked her what was wrong, but she just shook her head and kept walking, occasionally taking deep, shaky breaths as if to control tears. I was confused and worried but knew well enough to keep my mouth shut and follow. When we got home, Dad was outside of the shop, talking loudly to a few peacekeepers, his eyebrows creased and his mouth turned down in disgust. I tried to listen to their conversation but Mom shooed me inside and sat me down at the dining room table, speaking for just a moment to say "stay there" in a very small, trembling voice, but one that I wouldn't dare disobey.

I looked out the window and saw Dad, seeming much angrier and making large, animated gestures to the peacekeepers. Looking desperate and overcome with grief, Mom walked up behind him and very gently put her hands on his shoulders, saying something softy into his ear. He sighed, defeated, but withdrew, dismissing the peacekeepers, and walked away with Mom hanging on his side. I hurriedly moved away from the window, and when they came in, it was like the sorrow in the atmosphere was tangible.

Mom walked over to me, lowered herself to my height, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Roia, honey, this isn't easy to tell you, but Mory isn't…he's not…I…" she broke into tears before she could even finish. Dad put a hand on her arm and continued for her. He told me that Mory was caught smuggling money from the people a few doors down and sentenced to execution at once. The peacekeepers brought him to the town square by force, roped and chained him to the post in full view of the public, and stripped him of his jacket and shirt. Then they lashed him forty times, until he lost consciousness, and slaughtered him in front of the entire square. I knew he was trying to stay strong for me, but after retelling Mory's story, he was starting to lose his grip and tears were forming in the back of his eyes. He stood up and walked away to the kitchen, but I could still see him put his hand over his face to hide his sobbing.

It didn't take long for it to sink in. An endless flow of silent tears streamed down my face as I watched my parents cry. I had never seen them shed a tear until that moment, until they had lost their first child. They had remained strong through everything else; they deserved that one instant of weakness, to let out their sadness. But soon enough, they were going to have to be strong again, for me. For the little heart-broken eleven-year-old who was just robbed of her brother. The young girl who would need a lot more time to recover than them.

My head was a jumbled mess; I couldn't think straight, my only thoughts were lies. _He can't be gone. Can't be…dead. He wouldn't do something like that knowing he would be killed if caught. He loved me too much, loved Mom and Dad too much. He can't be gone. He just can't be… _

I was in denial. The first stage of reaction to a traumatic event like that. I refused to believe that he was gone, which only worried my parents even more. But, when I came out of that period of denial, I went directly into the next phase, and Mom and Dad realized that it was only the beginning of a long winding road of emotions. The pain, the anger, the guilt, the depression, the numbness. It eventually reached a point where I lost the will to live altogether. When the finality of the truth really got to me, and I just stopped feeling. I avoided social contact, refused to talk to even my parents, and shut out the rest of the world. For a long time, I stayed locked in my room, doing absolutely nothing but sleeping. The death of my brother had nearly driven me to suicide: I wouldn't eat, drink or talk, I barely ever moved, and I never let anyone in my room. I can only imagine how my parents felt.

Slowly, painstakingly, Mom and Dad worked me out of my fragile state. They got me moving, eating little amounts, and talking. They gently forced me to go school, to talk to people, to try new things to keep myself occupied. They tried their hardest, and eventually, I was near myself again. But I will never be quite the same without Mory. He helped make me who I am, and I will never fail to remember that; if he had had the choice, he would have never left me. I wish I could thank him somehow, through a dream, in my thoughts, but I don't know how. I barely know how to deal with myself.

As the years have passed, I've gotten much better, but every now and then, something reminds me of him. Some things are good, the big, bright flowers at the shop, the way the rain falls so softly after a storm, the odd smell of metal and smoke from the workers at the factory. But some are not such fond memories: the far over-used whipping post in the town square, the tight, angry faces of the peacekeepers when they walk by, the always empty chair at our dining table.

Mostly I just try to forget. Not to forget Mory, I could never do that, but to forget his death and the pain that followed. I will always remember the good parts of Mory, when I had him around and he treated me like I was his little queen. The way he smelled, his striking smile, his laughable cooking that he put so much effort into, the way he read to me with such verve and enthusiasm that I felt like I was a part of the story. Not that my parents didn't love me, because they did very much, but Mory was the one who introduced me to joy. He loved me like no one else did. So, naturally, he was stolen from me forever.

But now, I suppose that's for the better. Now that I'm in this arena and only have days left to live, in a way it's better that he's gone. So he doesn't have to watch me stumble my way to death, while he's able to do nothing but stare. It saves him the horror of witnessing my murder, which will no doubt be gruesome and bloody; perfect entertainment for the Capitol citizens. I wouldn't want him to have to see that.

But once I'm out of the game, I will finally be at peace. It will no doubt be better in the afterlife than where I am now. Staying any longer in these Games will only be pointless torture, since I know there is little to no chance of my victory. Even if I did manage to win by some miraculous miracle, my life would still never be complete. I know that my time in the arena would haunt me eternally, and I would never find true happiness. All the riches and fame in the world couldn't fix the damage the Hunger Games inflicts on its tributes. And the Victors get to live it all again, over and over and over as they mentor the tributes of their district and watch them die. They are forced to guide child after child and prepare them for their inevitable death.

That would not be truly living. I would rather die right now than have to relive these moments time and time again for the rest of my life. The Hunger Games has destroyed me already, and not even a day has passed. Maybe if I just lie down and close my eyes, I can escape, drift off peacefully and be free of this forever: quietly, softly, slip out of life, like a silken nightgown that's time to be shed.

I would get to see Mory again, if I've been good enough to make it where I know he is, and I would spend the rest of time with him. The rest of forever with Mory. Mmm…

Death doesn't sound so bad anymore.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter** Three

After years of fretting over how I was going to go on living without Mory, I've ended up here. For so long, I wished I would just die, tried to commit suicide even, and now I'm trapped in this oversized deadly terrarium fighting for my life. So far the odds have not been in my favor. And not just in the Games, I've been lucky enough to survive longer than I had thought, but in life. The center of my universe left me when I was young, too young to understand much of it, and his absence has haunted me ever since. My name was drawn at the reaping five years later, leading to my being thrown into this arena today. And now I'm wallowing in a bush, injured and in serious pain, dehydrated but afraid of wasting the little water I have.

I honestly don't know what to do.

I've been lying here, concealed by leaves and branches for at least a few hours. My countless attempts at sleep were all in vain, so I can feel the strong lack of energy and motive in my body. I feel hollow. Completely bereft of any sort of internal substance; food, water, blood, life. I feel like just an empty shell of myself. You could drive a spear right through me and there would be nothing inside. I would just crumble at the touch and drift away with the wind.

My mind seems to have evaporated as well. My judgment, my decision-making skill, my senses; they seem drowsy and distracted. Preoccupied with the wound at hand, my sleeplessness, hunger and thirst. My irrepressible fear. If I were to face a life-or-death decision right now, whether it be my life or another's, I can bet I would choose wrong. But I wouldn't be able to regret it if I were dead, now would I?

The wind seeps in through the leaves of the bush, rustling them slightly and causing me to shiver. I hug my legs close to me and tuck my head between my knees. I try to rearrange the leaves and branches a bit to shield me, but the cold is persistent. The breeze is lessened somewhat, but it doesn't do much to stop the cold from getting to me. I spend most of the night like this, freezing and curled up.

I can see the faint light of day just barely peeking up from the horizon, warning me that I will be much more visible not long from now. What am I going to do when the sun comes up? I can't stay here in full daylight with the looming threat of other tributes finding me. Especially with such a strong need for food and water. What if the Careers were to find me here, vulnerable and alone? They would pick me off like it was nothing; I have no way to defend myself. I do have my spear and knife, but I barely know how to use them. And I stupidly placed them out of reach from where I am now, and I have no intention of moving. The pain is too much and my energy too little.

If I can't even force myself to roll over to reach something only a few feet away from me, how am I going to manage a long journey? How am I even going to stand? I thought leaving it alone was best, that it might miraculously start to heal on its own, but the gash in my side has immobilized me. I have never been in this much pain before, and it amazes me that it's even possible for one thing to hurt so badly.

I think back to the day Mory died. He was whipped forty times, each one no doubt breaking the skin and forcing blood to flow. My wound is no more than a painless paper cut in comparison to his. I can't imagine anything hurting more than the pain at hand. I cannot believe Mory had to feel that pain. That he suffered that much.

I feel like a weakling, a coward. He was always so strong, so brave, never showed any hurt, anger or sadness. No matter what the situation, he always had a smile on his face, could always manage to laugh it off, or at least pretend to. And I'm here, feeling barely one-fortieth of what he felt, already giving up. I am a coward. A good-for-nothing quitter. I am ashamed of myself.

I should be courageous, strong, undaunted. Mory would be proud of me if I got up and kept going. So that's what I need to do. I will find a way to pick myself up, no matter the pain, and I will find food and water. I will fix my wound, get my act together, and try my absolute hardest to win this. I am going to prove that the odds don't have to be in my favor for me to take victory.

New determination coursing through me, I push myself up and try to stand. But I overestimate my strength and do so too quickly, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. I wrap my arms around my torso, eyes squeezed shut, and try to hold in the pain, my every in-taken breath sharp and shallow. Mind completely consumed by my current problem, I don't hear the soft footsteps getting closer and closer and the slight crinkle of the leaves around me. But, too little too late, I do notice when the sun's warmth and light is cut off and I am left sitting in a shadow.

As fast as it came, all the fight has left me, and I slowly turn my head to face my fellow tribute and soon-to-be killer. I sigh and try not to look afraid, but I can't hide the obvious pain in my voice. "Just get it ov –"

"Shhh!" A hand clamps over my mouth, but to my surprise I feel neither a knife at my neck, a spear tip pressed to my back, or their other hand closing around my throat. The shadow comes around in front of me and crouches to my level. He keeps his hand firmly in place over my lips so I can only widen my eyes when I see his face. _Ross!_

I instantly relax and all fear of death vanishes. I almost start laughing because I'm so relieved, but I can't make sound beneath his strong hand. Did he come to find me because he wanted us to join forces? A tiny light flares inside of me, something I could only call hope. Maybe, if we became allies, he could help me find water, fix me up, and I would have a better chance of surviving. Maybe then I could make it to the final eight. Maybe I could even win.

I mentally shake my head. This is the Hunger Games. I can't go getting all happy-go-lucky because I may or may not now have an ally. He might just be here to gain my trust and then finish me off. I am already pretty close to death. I would be easy pickings, especially for someone of his strength and skill. I can't afford to let my guard down; it would only win me a spot in the afterlife. I have to stay alert and not lose focus.

My eyes narrow at the form before me and his face takes on a confused look. I bring my hand to his and wrench it from my mouth, catching him off guard, and scoot back as far as the little shrub will allow to create some distance between us. "Why are you here?" I whisper harshly.

His bright violet eyes search my face, puzzled at my reaction. "What's the matter? I thought you'd be happy to see me," he says. He sounds truly hurt by my coldness, and it takes a tremendous effort not to reach out and hug him and tell him that I miss him.

I stand my ground and put on my best grimace, ignoring the strange tingling in my gut. "You didn't answer my question. What do you want?" I ask.

"I wanted to ask you if you would be my ally. I figure we're stronger together than apart. And you're the only one I know I can trust. If you feel the same," he says, and I have to push away the guilt I feel at his words. How can he still trust me so openly, while I won't even touch him? I thought he was the smarter of the two of us. But then again, I would never be able to hurt him, let alone kill him, so is he right to trust me? How can he be so sure? "Will you be my ally, Roia?"

I bite my lip. My first instinct is to say yes. After all, he is strong and clever and could be a useful partner. But another part of me can't trust him yet. Not in a place like this. The strange thing is it feels like he just proposed to me. He's kneeling before me, asking me to be his ally, and I have yet to accept or decline. And I know I will probably never marry, because my chances of making it out of this arena are slim, so I pretend. I picture myself, the man of my dreams before me, screaming and laughing and crying and saying yes over and over and over again, hugging and kissing him and already trying to imagine the silken white dress I will wear when I walk down the aisle. It's odd, thinking of something so happy and unattainable at a time like this. When I have such an important decision to make.

Why was I able to trust Ross instantly when we first met, but now I won't even allow him a kind word? That's what the Hunger Games does to you. You are so afraid for your own life that you won't trust anybody, won't do anything that could even possibly endanger you. And I am turning into one of them. What can I do about it? Paranoia isn't something you can just choose to get rid of. It stays with you until you're out of the arena. I've heard rumors that for some victors, it's as if they never left. They still live in fear and think that everyone they see is another tribute who's out to get them.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I ask. And that's probably the worst thing I could have said because it means that I'm considering his offer. My desire to team up with Ross has by now taken the edge out of my voice and I no longer sound reluctant when I say, "Prove it to me."

"A challenge, eh?" he says with a slight smile. My stomach makes a weird twinge that I don't have time to analyze. He looks up and thinks for a moment. Then his eyes lower to meet mine. He reaches for my hand, as he did freely during our week of preparation, but rethinks it and lets his arm fall back to his side. "Do you remember what I said the other night? When we were walking back from dinner?" He pauses and my mind rushes back to that moment, the night before we entered the arena.

We had just had one of the Capitol's delicious multi-course meals. Potatoes over rice hidden by a layer of some thick, salty sauce; a foamy, white soup filled with bright berries; tiny squares of breaded chicken stuffed with steaming vegetables; a light, clear green broth; three perfectly round scoops of Italian ice the color of the Capitol people with thin slices of sugar cane balanced delicately on top. I ate every crumb my stomach could hold; the rice and potatoes were absolutely amazing.

We walked slowly, our bellies about to burst, my hand in his.

"That's probably the best meal we've had since we got here," said Ross. "They must really be trying to fatten us up for the Games."

"No kidding. I feel sick to my stomach I ate so much. That first course was so good I couldn't stop until my plate was sparkling clean," I said.

"The one with the really salty gravy? My favorite was the sweet berry soup. Mmm… I would bring home buckets of that stuff if I could." He licked his lips and rubbed his stomach for show.

I released a small giggle. "I know you would." We both sighed and Ross squeezed my hand.

"Ross, what are we going to do when we're in the arena?" I asked suddenly.

"I don't know," he said sadly. "I just want to spend as much time with you now as I can. Because I know both of us can't win."

"But what if we end up having to face each other in the arena? What if we become the final two? What would we do then?"

"There are a lot of things that could go wrong in there. We both know it. But wouldn't you rather savor the time we have left than waste it worrying about what may happen in the future?" he said.

"But what if –"

"Stop worrying," he said with a chuckle. The future doesn't matter now; we're still in the present." By then we were at the door to my room, and Ross was leaning against the doorframe. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye, all humor gone. "Listen to me," he said, and I had no choice to but to meet his gaze. "No matter what, know that I am here for you. I would never hurt you; even in the arena, I wouldn't dare. Remember that. I may be your only friend once we leave those metal circles." Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. His lips were warm and soft on my skin, softer than I expected, and he just held them there for a while. Then he pulled away and walked off to his room without another word.

To be honest, I was baffled. I was tingling all over and for the first few minutes, I could swear I was in love. Did he mean it? Would I be able to go to him for help in the arena? It seemed unreal, that he cared about me so much, that he would go to such lengths to prove it. I was in some sort of a trance for a while, but that disappeared as soon as I entered the arena.* It's too dangerous to think about love right now, here. Even friendship isn't a good idea; it would only lead to betrayal or heartbreak. And where would that get me?

So, instead of launching myself into Ross' arms like my body is telling me to, I say brusquely, "Yeah. I remember."

But he remains cool and patient and only looks deeper into me. "Well I meant it. Every word. I want to help you, protect you, lo…" he stops himself, then continues, "Be your friend; you just have to let me," says Ross. "I understand why you're so reluctant to team up with me. People change in the arena, I know that, but I don't plan on being one of them. I will never hurt you." He looks at me expectantly with the face of a puppy eagerly awaiting a treat.

"I'm not convinced," I say, crossing my arms. But it sounds like I'm only messing with him. I wish I were able to appear fierce, intimidating, but my tone seems more playful. I don't want him to think this is a game.

Ross sighs and says, "I didn't think you would be so difficult," and takes my hands without hesitation. But I don't pull away in time to stop his kiss. It's so unexpected that I literally don't know what to do. So I don't do anything. I let my arms hang at my sides and sit there, frozen by surprise. I do nothing to encourage the kiss, but much worse, I do nothing to try to stop it. I can feel him smile on my lips just before he pulls back. He chuckles as I stare at him, wide-eyed, dumbfounded and unable to move. "Was that proof enough for you?" he asks with a smile. Then more to himself than me, "I've been waiting for a reason to do that."

My heart is beating faster than it ever has before; faster than when I was running madly away from the boy from District 5, and I wonder if Ross can hear it. I try to calm it down in case he can. I know he's waiting for me to say something, but I don't think I would be able to speak if I tried. He raises his eyebrows and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I guess it really is possible to leave someone speechless. I used to think it was just an inaccurate expression.

My head is a little dizzy and I see little black spots before me that come and disappear. I suddenly feel very tired and just want to go to sleep. But my wound is numb now; I can't feel it at all, so I take that as a good thing.

"Roia?" Ross says, slightly concerned. "Are you alright?"

_Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be alright? I've only lost the ability to speak temporarily, and because of you. I would be yelling at you right now if I could. _But his face is growing more concerned with each thought I direct towards him. What's the matter with him? Is he hallucinating?

Then he gasps almost silently, the color in his face draining fast, and I see that his eyes are locked on my side. I'm about to tell him it's no big deal, it's not that deep a cut and it doesn't even hurt anymore, when I look down myself.

Then the world fades out tainted deep red.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter **Four**

When I come to I can tell I was out for a long time. I'm on my back, looking up the trunk of a very tall tree, and I feel something cool and wet on my forehead. A relieved breath is released beside me and I jump into a sitting position.

"Whoa, calm down," says Ross, lowering me back to the ground. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."

I blink a few times and look around. I'm on unlevel ground, slightly tilted sideways, surrounded by thick emerald trees. I can barely see the sky through the canopy of green, but I can at least tell that it's still just as grey and gloomy as before. The ground is still solid rock with little spots of dull grass, but it doesn't feel like cool, rough stone beneath me. I lift my leg a bit and see that Ross had placed me on a blanket of leaves, dirt and grass that must have taken a long time to construct. He is kneeling at my side as he takes a damp rag of cloth from my lap and lays it back across my forehead. It must have fallen when I sat up so suddenly.

Then I realize something. How is the cloth wet? Did Ross use what was left in my bottle? Or did he find a source of water? And how did these trees get here? There wasn't a tree in sight before. My head is so confused that I don't even know how to start asking questions.

"What happened?" I say, more groggily than I feel. That seems to be the most basic question. Hopefully it will answer some of my others as well.

Ross clears his throat and begins to tell me. Apparently, my wound was deeper than I thought and started bleeding again during my encounter with him. I lost a lot of blood and hadn't had anything to eat or drink, so I unknowingly passed out. While I was unconscious, Ross carried me all the way to the mountain I was originally heading towards, and found there was a section of forest along one side. He thought trees were our best bet in terms of cover, so he trekked up the mountainside to this spot. He also discovered a small run-off pond at the bottom of the mountain, and refilled both of our water bottles. He cleaned my wound, used his undershirt and some soothing grass to wrap it, and put a damp tear of the cloth on my forehead for good measure. I'm starving as before, but my body isn't yearning for water. I see a half-empty bottle of water at my feet and assume Ross managed to coax some of it into me while I was out. And I don't mind any of this.

I realize I have sub-consciously decided to trust Ross. Why would he waste so much time and go to so much trouble to save me if he planned on killing me anyway? If he really wanted me dead he would have left me to drown in my own blood back in that bush. And it seems like he's not giving up on this, so what else can I do?

"Here," he says, handing me the half-full bottle. "You should drink something." I take the water from him and gladly take a few big gulps. The cool liquid feels good as it slides down my throat, and I have to force myself to put it down to stop from drinking too fast.

"Thank you," I say. They may be simple words, but they run much deeper than that. Though I'm thanking him for the water, I'm also trying to thank him for everything else. Coming to find me, not giving up on my attitude, saving my life. I know he understands by the way he stops to hold my gaze and smiles. And that's it. No dramatic expression of gratitude, crying thanks at his feet, asking how I could ever repay him. Just a simple 'thank you'. It's as if there's an unspoken understanding between us; nothing more need be said. That doesn't mean we're even, I'd have to save his life twice over before I could even consider that option, but I don't owe him anything.

I pick up the water bottle and sip on it until it's dry. Then Ross takes it to bring down to the pond to refill. Once he has disappeared I take a deep breath and begin to think. But then my thoughts go straight to Ross, his face, so I disregard the idea of thinking. Instead I look down and examine my bandage. He said he removed it, rinsed out the stains in the pond and replaced it, but I can see the blood fighting to reach the surface again. The good thing is that it doesn't hurt that much. I'm guessing it's because of the grass he put in on it. He said he remembers them from training, and that the instructor said they are supposed to prevent infection and reduce the pain of open wounds. I gently probe the area to see how sensitive to the touch it is, and wince. Not terrible, but enough. I wouldn't want to get into a fight with this.

Ross returns with full water bottles and instantly sees the look on my face. He comes and crouches by my side, putting his hands before my wound but not quite touching it. "What happened? Does it hurt?" he asks.

I smile and reply. "No, it's fine. I just wanted to see how bad it was, how much pressure it could take."

"Oh," says Ross. He places the bottles next to a tree, with my spear and knives, a little red backpack, a few strips of his shirt and a small pile of that healing grass.

"Where'd you get the backpack?" I ask. I didn't notice it before.

"Oh, while you were unconscious the other night another tribute came along. I got him with the spear and took his pack. He didn't have anything else on him, though."

I'm impressed. He says this in a very offhand way, and I get the feeling he's not just being cocky. I think he's a lot stronger than he looks, and a lot smarter, too. "Really?" I ask. "Who was it? What district, I mean?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I don't know their faces very well," he says.

"Oh," I say. But he said the other night, not necessarily last night. How long was I out? "How long ago did you say this was?"

"Night before last, just after dark," he replies. "Why?"

Night before last? "How long was I unconscious?" I ask.

"Well… dawn was just breaking when I found you about two days ago. You were out cold for two whole days and nights," he says, just realizing how long that really is.

"What did I miss? Besides you killing that boy. How many people are still alive?"

"As of last night there were eleven left. Ten were killed in the bloodbath, two more the day after, and the boy I took out the night before last. We can be sure when night comes again; see if anyone else died today," he says grimly.

Being a tribute in the Hunger Games is not easy. Sometimes I feel like it's harder to live than die in the arena. You have to kill others to save yourself, turn on allies, watch people – kids – die. You have to be selfish to win. You have to operate on your own because you wouldn't dare trust anyone with your life at stake, focus on only your life, on keeping yourself alive at all costs, like you are the only threatened child that matters. You have to hurt a lot of people to do that. I don't think any tribute has ever made it out of the Hunger Games alive without causing multiple deaths. It's inevitable. You're either the smartest, the strongest, the sliest, or just lucky. But at some point, all of those traits require the death of all your fellow tributes. No one wins by being a sniveling coward who's afraid of blood and pointy objects. You win by being strong-minded, confident, brave and clever. Why don't we just tack that onto the end of the growing list of reasons why I probably won't win?

"Well, the less the better…I suppose," I say. It's hard to be happy about someone's death, though. Even if it means my survival. "Do you remember who's died so far?" I ask to change the subject. And I do want to know what I'm up against.

"I know that all but one of the Careers are still out there somewhere. The girl from District Two was killed in the bloodbath," says Ross. That's odd, usually the Careers are the ones you can count on surviving through at least the first few days. Alright, let's see…I remember the tributes from District 1. The girl was little and blonde and reminded me of a fairy the way she flitted about, but all the same she looked like someone to watch out for; her step was too light and quick to be unpracticed. The boy had loose brown hair and bulging muscles, and I know from his interview an ego of about the same size and a brain as big as a pea. I vaguely remember the tributes from 2. They both had dark hair and looked very serious, determined, but that's as much as I can gather. The pair from District 4 I partially remember. I can't quite bring up their faces in my mind or their personalities from their interviews. I can recall that they had very interesting outfits for their chariot ride. They wore translucent cloaks of blue and green that blew behind them in the wind, but they were stark naked underneath besides one shell to cover the boy's groin and two for the girl's breasts. The costumes have been sillier, though; one year the tributes from 4 had to balance full fish bowls on their heads.

"Anyone else?" I ask. Normally, the Careers are the biggest threat, but that doesn't mean I should count my other opponents out.

"Hmm…" Ross pauses, thinking. "Oh. The boy from 3…both from 5 and 6, the girl from 7…both from 9…the girl from 10, both from 11…and…the boy from 12. I think. I'm trying to picture the faces shown in the sky the past few nights to remember, and that's the best I can do."

_Wow_. I blow out. That's a lot to figure out. As he was naming the fallen tributes, though, I started carving who was left into a tree to keep track. I'll just scrape that layer of bark off when we leave here so no one else can use it as a guide. First on my list of survivors are the District 1 tributes and I think I remember the fairy-like girl's name being Marzipan, but the boy's I can't quite grasp. Then the boy from 2 with his solemn expression. The girl from 3. Both from 4, and somehow their names just came to mind; Rowan and Coral. The boy from 7, I remember his name because it made me laugh; Spruce. District 7 specializes in lumber and paper, or trees. Me and Ross. The boy from 10, who I remember was very little and very scared-looking. The girl from 12, who had dark hair and olive skin, but whose name I didn't quite catch. And that's all of them. All eleven. I have to kill each and every one of them if I want to win.

We spend the day not doing much of anything. Ross fixes my bandage, refills and purifies the water bottles when they're empty, attempts to make good conversation with me. He even tries killing a few rabbits and squirrels to eat. The squirrels are too fast and scurry away before he can get them, but the rabbits are slower and dimmer so he manages to spear one and catch and kill the other from behind. We have a good laugh over the second rabbit; it starts kicking Ross in the face and leaves a long scratch on his cheek as he tries to slit its throat. I try standing but only make it a few feet before I have to sit down again. Ross says the grass should be done with its work by tomorrow, and I can try walking and running some more. Just before night falls, Ross takes a box of matches from the little backpack and lights a fire. He impales the skinned rabbits with a stick and roasts them over the flames until they're thoroughly cooked, letting the juices drip into a curled leaf.

"Why don't you wait until it's dark to light a fire?" I ask. It would help us see in the night, ward off any unwelcome bugs, and keep us warm as the temperature sinks with the sun.

"I learned watching past Hunger Games that it's best to make a fire just before nightfall. Otherwise your opponents will know where you are, either by the light or the smoke," says Ross. He must have really studied this stuff. It makes sense, what he's saying, but I never would have known. Did he make sure to pay close attention to the Games, since they're a mandatory viewing anyway, just in case he ended up in the arena some day? I suppose it's a smart thing to do, because the odds are never really in anyone's favor. But it does seem a bit strange; most people can't stand to watch the Games, and the Capitol is usually the only exception.

But I don't question him. He rations the rabbit carefully, giving each of us half of one of them to eat. Then he wraps the rest in some leaves and puts it in his backpack. At first I'm a little hesitant to eat rabbit, but once I take a bite I realize that my body is so deprived of food it will take anything. I try to chew slowly, waiting a few second between each bite, but the juicy meat is gone in minutes. I noisily suck the juice off my fingers and lick my lips, savoring the flavor, completely forgetting all the manners my parents taught me. I can see Ross laughing out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I say defensively.

"So you liked it?" he asks, and begins chuckling again. I just roll my eyes and look away. But I'm embarrassed by my behavior, so I stop licking my fingers and try to be less improper.

When the sky has finished darkening the anthem plays and the Capitol's seal flashes above us. I mentally prepare myself to see the faces of the tributes who are no longer living. I can't avoid it now, that information is too important. But, to my surprise, no one shows in the sky tonight. The anthem plays and everything becomes dark again. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding and lay back down. The air is chilly and I'm shivering with cold, but we have no blankets or sleeping bags to keep us warm. Yet another thing I didn't think about when running from the Cornucopia. Ross patched up my suit with a sharpened twig as a needle and some thin leaf fibers as thread, and now it has a little more give to it, so I tuck my legs up to my chest inside of the fabric and let the legs of it deflate. Ross curls up beside the tree with our supplies but keeps his eyes wide open. "I'll take first watch," he says.

"What?" I ask.

"I'll stay awake the first half of the night while you get some sleep, then I'll wake you and you'll stay up so I can sleep until morning."

"Why? Can't we both just rest tonight?" I ask, still confused.

"It's too dangerous. Someone could come by and steal our supplies or slit out throats in our sleep. At least one of us has to be up at all times," says Ross, his face serious as as if it were set in stone.

And I take him seriously. But I wonder if that's something else he picked up from his Hunger Games observations. And for a split second I wonder if he could be my biggest opponent. Now _or_ later. But I eternally banish the thought and simply say, "Okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Boring? Stupid? I sincerely hope it was the first. But, I won't know unless you tell me, so remember to review! It always makes my day when I get a good review, or even a critical one that helps improve my writing. So please do! <strong>

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	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter** Five

By the time Ross rouses me I can tell there's only about an hour or so until sunrise. He was kind and let me sleep longer than I should have, so I decide not to wake him for a few more hours unless something happens. I prop myself up against the tree nearest me and watch Ross sleep. He looks so content, almost happy, until he starts dreaming. At least that's what I think is happening. He rolls over constantly and his expressions change even with his eyes shut. At one point he rolls on his side, facing me, reaches his arms in front of him, palms out as if trying to stop something, and mumbles, "No…please, don't." Then he collapses in on himself, clutching his stomach and crying out in pain. I jump up and crawl over to him in panic as his cries rise to piercing screams.

"Ross!" I yell, putting my hands on his side. I hesitantly shake him, afraid of worsening the pain if it's real and not a part of this nightmare he's in. But he just keeps screaming. "Ross! Wake up!" I cry, shaking him harder now. He rolls onto his back and his eyes pop open as I move my hands to his chest, about to cry his name again. But it comes out a horrified whisper instead, my voice cracking at the end, "Ross." His eyes come into focus and see me, leaning over him, trembling. He sits up immediately and wipes his hands across my cheeks, eyes swimming with concern. I didn't even realize I had started crying in the moment. My face must be so terrified and tear-stained because he takes my hand and puts his arm around me, rubbing circles around my back.

"It's okay," he says soothingly. "It was just a dream."

But I can't get over it. "I thought…I thought you were dying!" I say shakily. "You were screaming and…and yelling and…you looked like you were really hurt."

He whispers into my ear reassuringly. "But I'm fine. I'm here and I'm not in any kind of pain. It was just a bad dream." Ross is stroking my hair and trying to convince me that he's okay, but it takes a while for me to get over the shock.

Then I hear the distinct snap of a twig nearby. It startles us out of our tranquility and into silence. I look around us, trying to find a fellow tribute, an animal, whatever it was - my first instinct is to look for a human. I'm just making out a shadowed figure through the branches of a tree when Ross smashes into my side, knocking me to the ground. A knife lodges in the tree trunk where my head was only a second ago, and my senses jump into overdrive. I fly to my feet and dart behind the tree, crouching for cover. As fast as he knocked me down, Ross is up and has our spear in his hand, heading toward the tree with the shadowy form in it. It drops from the tree and to my surprise I see a long, blonde ponytail whip around before the connected body sprints away. Marzipan. Ross doesn't stop to think before charging after her at full speed, vanishing into the forest.

I knew she would be one to watch out for. And judging by how quickly she ran away, I was right about her speed. She went so swiftly it looked almost like the ground was pushing her along.

I stand and retrieve Marzipan's knife from the tree trunk. It's long, very sharp and serrated near the base of the blade. I weigh it in my hands for a moment to get the feel of it; it's light but seems to be good quality and could be very useful. If only I knew how to use it.

I sit by the punctured tree and decide to just wait for Ross to come back. What would I do if I followed him anyway? That is, if I managed to catch up. I definitely wouldn't be of any assistance; he'd be better off killing Marzipan on his own. But then I think again. What if she's faster, stronger, smarter? What if _she_ kills _him_? What would I do, how would I know? If I hear a cannon and he doesn't come back within an hour or so…I'll just have to assume he didn't make it. I sit and wait, restless with worry, biting my fingernails and twisting my hair. I try to think of other things, take my mind off of the situation, but everything I think of somehow comes right back to Ross. A half-hour passes. Forty-five minutes. A full hour. Dawn is breaking on the horizon and the sky is getting lighter with the incoming day. My nails are down to stumps now and my hair is a knotted mess.

I haven't heard a cannon yet but finally I hear footsteps in the distance. I let out a breath of relief and stand up. _Thank goodness, _I think. I'm about to call out his name when a figure comes into view from through the trees and stops. And it's not Ross. He only pauses for a split-second then goes straight for the axe slung over his shoulder. In alarm, I scoop up Marzipan's knife and hurl it towards the boy without even giving myself a chance to aim. I hear a sickening _thunk_ and look up to see it stuck in his upper stomach. I gasp in horror and bring my hand to my mouth as he falls to his knees, dropping the axe with wide eyes. He must not have expected it either. Blood is spurting out from beneath the knife like a fountain, and I think it must have hit some vital organ because of how much he's losing. Then I recognize that it's the boy from District 7, Spruce, and I feel a pang of grief. I didn't know him, but the fact that I recognize him and laughed at his coincidental name is enough. When he starts choking up blood I know that the knife hit something important. His face is paling fast and he can no longer hold himself up; his knees collapse and he lands on his face, the knife driving up further into him with the force of the ground. I wince at the fall. The ground is now stained a deep red that shows up distinctly on the pale grey rocks - the red of blood that I spilled.

For a moment I don't know what to do, so I just stand there as the boy bleeds, shaking my head. Then he goes still and silent on the ground. A few minutes later, a cannon fires and I know he is dead. I painfully walk a little ways away to stand behind a tree and wait. In a few seconds a hovercraft noiselessly appears and I watch as a claw reaches down to retrieve the boy. Then it's gone, but I'm still rooted in place.

I killed him. I killed the boy from District 7. Spruce. The boy with the ironically funny name that made me laugh even when I was on my way to certain death. I killed him and now he's gone forever. What is his family thinking right now? Surely they're watching. And I just killed their son, or brother, or cousin. What if he had a girlfriend back home, if he was in love? I have just hurt so many people by killing him. People who now must hate me. And I don't blame them. I hate myself right now. Because I stole someone's life in an attempt to keep mine. As if I deserve to live any more than he does. I certainly don't. I do not deserve to live right now. It would be over now if he had just killed me. If I was gone and he was alive. Everything would be so much easier. I wouldn't have to live with this guilt, this shame. Because I just killed someone. I just can't get over that. I killed someone. It blows my mind. That I was even able to do it. That I didn't even really mean to. It was just panic, self-defense. But I did it and it's irreversible. _I killed someone._

"I'm a murderer," I whisper in disbelief. The words seem strange coming from my mouth. They feel wrong, filthy, and I am ashamed that they are true. Angry. Morose. And I want to cry. But I don't. For some reason, my mind is forbidding it. My body won't produce any tears, as much as I would love to let them free, and I just stand there, so many emotions inside of me I'm not sure how to feel. I don't know how long I stand there, but eventually Ross breaks through the trees and sees me. He's unharmed, spear still in hand, but he seems frustrated. At himself. For not catching Marzipan, I suppose. Because I would have heard a cannon fire if he had. His face smooths out when he sees me in this emotionless state. But I feel bad for him somehow. How does he deal with me?

"What –" his eyes find the enormous pool of blood that is now soaked into the grass and drying on the stone. "Are you alright?" he asks. But when he looks at me I can tell he knows it's not my blood that colors the earth. He picks up the bloody axe that belonged to Spruce and his eyebrows crease. "Someone else was here." His gaze goes from the axe to me and I swear he looks straight through me. "I heard a cannon." He pauses as if the next words are hard to get out. "Did you kill someone?"

My lip starts to quiver and I can feel the hot sting of tears in the back of my eyes. After hours of waiting they finally come. He stumbles over and takes my hands, but I still can't move. I want to tell him, tell him how horrible it was, how I wish I could take it back, how I didn't even mean to do it. But I can't. My voice has taken a brief vacation and all I can do is stand there. I look up at him and he seems to read my mind. His hands go to the back of my knees and the center of my back and he scoops me up. I slip my arms up around his neck and bury my face in his chest, but tears still don't come. Ross carries me to the little bed he made out of leaves, dirt and grass and tries to lay me down, but I can't find the will to let him go. He sighs and awkwardly sits down with me is his arms. But I only squeeze him tighter until I eventually doze off.

When I wake I feel oddly normal. I realize I am still clutching Ross and quickly let go, crawling off his lap to sit at the other end of the leaf bed. He seems startled by my suddenness but stands, stretching his sore muscles and yawning. The sky tells me that it's well into the day; did Ross really sit there for hours, unmoving, while I slept in his arms? The embarrassment is now getting to me at the way I reacted to killing that boy. Paralyzed with shock, latching onto Ross for something to hold onto, falling asleep in his arms. My downcast eyes must tell it all because he comes to kneel beside me and says, "Roia, it was your first kill. That's excuse enough for anything you might have done afterward."

"It was the boy from District 7. Spruce," I say suddenly. How else do I begin to tell him how I just committed my first murder? I might as well just come out with it. Ross just stops and stares, surprised by my outburst. I try to continue calmly. "I was just sitting, waiting for you to come back, and when I heard someone coming, I didn't even question that it was you. But it wasn't, and when he saw me, he reached for his axe," I gesture to the one lying on the ground by our other supplies, "and I panicked. I just grabbed a knife and threw it without thinking. And it hit him. It actually hit him." I manage to keep a relatively cool demeanor throughout my confession, but I still have to fight to keep the horror out of my voice.

"I know how hard that must have been," says Ross. "I'm sorry I wasn't there." But he doesn't know. How could he possibly know what it feels like? He's never killed a person before, has he? "But it's going to be okay," he continues. "It gets easier."

It takes a moment for me to realize what he said. What does he mean by that? That I made it through the pain and horror of murdering someone, and it's over now? That the worst of the Games is out of the way and the rest is easier now? Or that the first kill is the hardest, and now that it's done, the others will be less horrifying? Does he expect me to kill more people?

I take a breath that's somewhat shaky and pretend I know how he meant it. "Yeah, I guess."

"Everything will be okay."

After a pause I say, "Well, at least he died among friends," and motion towards the trees that surround us. There are a few spruces mixed in with the rest. I know these trees from my brief time at the plant station during training.

Ross gives a small, breathy laugh and says, "Yeah. I guess he did."

For the remainder of the afternoon Ross helps me walk, run, and climb trees with my healing wound. I wasn't able to climb trees before, but this gives me an excuse to be bad at it and learn. The blood covering the ground where Spruce died is hard to look at, so we go down to lake to get water to wash it away. But when we come back, it's gone, so we assume the Gamemakers removed it like they do dead bodies, and simply wanted to wait until we were out of the way. We split the rest of the rabbit and each drink a whole bottle of water to keep us going. Ross kills two more rabbits and manages a squirrel this time, too. He even, after some thorough searching, finds a patch of berries that he claims to recognize from back home. I've never seen the dark, purplish fruits before but he doesn't drop dead when he eats them, so I decide their safe.

Thankfully, nothing else life-scarring happens and soon enough night comes. We sit next to each other as the temperature drops brutally and the moon rises to view in the dark sky. Giving a soft glow to all below it, the Capitol seal appears and the uniform music plays. I take a deep breath and find myself hoping that there are more people in the sky tonight than just Spruce. And again I know that I do not deserve to live because I am selfish and I want to win. I want to live badly enough that I am hoping for others' deaths.

The first face I see is Spruce's. That means that the Careers are still alive. Marzipan and her partner from 1, the boy from 2, Rowan and the girl from 4. And the girl from 3. The boy from District 10's face flashes next. I feel a pang at that one; he was so young and afraid. And that's all the deaths for today. Which means that the girl from District 12 is still living as well, the one with the dark hair and olive skin.

Nine left. They will begin interviewing the remaining tributes' family and friends after the next one falls. To let them know that their child is that much closer to winning, or only more rapidly nearing death. This is the most crucial part of the Games. Then end. When everyone is fighting for the crown and everything is frantic with death and betrayal. The final eight is where alliances end. And if not right then, soon afterwards. I have no clue how I'm going to break off from Ross. I owe him so much, so much that I can never repay, but we are going to have to split up eventually. Maybe we'd be even if I sacrificed myself to let him win, but I'm not willing to die for him yet. I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is that I am going to try my hardest to stay alive.

We settle in to sleep, and I offer to take first watch because I got some rest earlier, during my shock attack after killing Spruce. Ross agrees; I know he must be exhausted after all that's happened today, but he seems restless tonight. We're both shivering so uncontrollably that it's more like involuntary spasms jerking our bodies. After about an hour of this, Ross has gotten no sleep. With some effort he sits up and looks at me. "Roia, th-this isn't work-king," he says. His face is pale as the stone beneath us and I suspect mine is just as well.

"I-I know," I reply. We are going to freeze to death if we don't find some way to keep warm. If only we had grabbed a sleeping bag or something when the Games started, we wouldn't have this problem. Then I have an idea, but I hate it. Body heat. That's probably the best solution right now, but I don't want to get any closer to Ross if we're going to break off soon anyway. It will only make it harder on both of us. Goodness knows I've done enough already to make things worse; Ross kissing me that first night, him saving my life, crying because I thought Ross was dying and needing him to hold me until I was convinced he was fine, falling asleep in his arms in the after-shock of killing Spruce. All we need is another reason to have our bodies pressed together for a long period of time. But Ross says it before I can give an alternative.

"I think the b-best solution is to be close t-to each other. You know, b-body heat," he says. I sigh internally because there really is no alternative. And we need some heat fast if we want to avoid getting frost-bitten.

"Y-yeah," I reply in defeat. As if there was even a chance of me winning this. We slowly drag ourselves toward each other until our sides are touching. But it's not enough, and I know it. Ross slides me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me, and I can't help but do the same. It feels so good, being close to him, enveloped in his warmth. A sigh of pleasure escapes my lips before I can stop it. We curl up tighter to hold in more heat and just lie there for a while, and eventually the shivering stops. I'm just nodding off when I remember that I'm supposed to be on watch. I sleepily open my eyes and try to focus on surveying our surroundings. It's dark and cold and there's no one around. That's about all there is to see. But as much as I want to, I know I can't fall asleep now. Just a few more hours, then I can rouse Ross and go to bed…

I wake to a thunderous crashing sound that just about bursts my eardrums and a severe jolting of the ground that instantly brings the word 'earthquake' to mind. I sit straight up and fall off of Ross' lap as he jumps up too. "What's going on?" he asks in panic. We look around frantically for about a split-second before I see the gigantic masses of rock tumbling down the mountain toward us. Ross sees it too and doesn't hesitate as he scoops up our few supplies and takes off running, so I do the same. We go as fast as we possibly can, but every time I look back the boulders are closer than before. The steep downhill slope forces us to go faster than our feet can stand and we trip constantly on the uneven ground. We're only a few yards away from the bottom of the mountain when I trip again. This time I tumble forward and end up sprawled on the ground, my face smashing against the hard stone, and I can hear the boulders are only moments from trampling over me. In that time, I develop a strong fear of being flattened to a pancake. But Ross must have noticed that I was no longer beside him because I see him running up toward me. I hear a loud crash and duck my head, bracing myself for the impact, but it doesn't come. Instead I see the big boulder land just in front of my face and roll away down the mountain. Ross has his mouth wide open in disbelief staring behind me.

When I look back it's as if the rest of the boulders have altogether vanished, so I rise to my feet, confused and shocked and shaking all over. "What happened?" I ask, utterly bewildered.

Ross keeps looking from the spot behind me back to the still-rolling boulder through the trees. "The boulder – it _bounced_. It hit a bump and just…went right over you," he sputters, as if he doesn't belief what he's saying. "Then all the rest of the rocks just disappeared. Like they just melted back into the ground or something."

There's a long pause. The boulder continues until it's out of sight, the ground ceases its trembling beneath us, and we try to gather our thoughts and process what just happened. "Well, I guess we ought to find a different place to camp out then, huh?" I say, deciding that, as long as we're both unharmed, what just happened really doesn't matter anymore.

His face morphs to what I think is confusion for only a moment as he says, "Yeah. I guess we should." Then he's back to normal and we continue on.


	6. Chapter Six

**Hey! Here's the next chapter to _A Story Untold. _I hope you like it so far, and a special thanks to all those who review! It really helps, and motivates me to continue writing. Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter <strong>Six<strong>

We abandon the mountain in case of another avalanche but decide we should stay close to the pond. After some debating and searching, we come to the decision that, for tonight, we'll stay by the water's edge, but tomorrow we'll find somewhere else to reside. Maybe even form a plan of some sort that will help us win, eliminate some of our opponents.

Ross and I sit on the shore of the pond, letting the cool water lap at our feet and nibble on some of the squirrel we just cooked. It's abnormally peaceful for the Hunger Games. But I like it, so I let it happen. I discover that squirrel isn't as bad as I thought and not that different tasting from rabbit. I just pretend it's nothing more than food, that it was never a living, breathing animal, and manage to down half of one plus half a rabbit. Ross eats the other halves of the squirrel and rabbit. Then we break out the berries that Ross found earlier. They're very sweet but have a strong, tangy aftertaste that tickles your mouth and makes you want more. I would have no trouble finishing them off and neither would Ross, but we manage to save half of the pile for tomorrow. Who knows if they'll still be where we found them when we wake up in the morning? Then we just sit there, watching the water, letting the breeze blow across our faces. Ross sighs.

"What?" I ask curiously. When I look over at him he's smiling, leaning back on his hands. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just looks around at the bare terrain and the mountain with squinted eyes.

"You know, this isn't half bad," he says. That catches me off guard. He never seemed to enjoy this place and the beauty of the scenery – not that many people do – before now. But I feel the same way. Looking around at the clear, calm water, the grey yet bright sky, I feel safe. The mountain that was once a looming threat is no longer dark and ominous. The animals scattered throughout the arena seem like companions, there to keep you company, and I'm no longer frightened by them. I don't feel trapped or afraid anymore. I don't feel like I'm on my way to death.

Even though I am.

"I think, right now, we should enjoy this. Everything looks especially beautiful tonight, and we should try to savor it. Tomorrow it's back to business, but for now…let's just forget where we really are and enjoy ourselves," Ross says, no humor in his voice.

And because the moment seems so perfect I reply, "Alright." Then I smile at him. "As our first act of enjoying ourselves, I say we go swimming!"

We strip off our over clothes and pull off our shoes as quickly as we can. Then I grab Ross' hand and pull him toward the water, both of us grinning wide as ever. We splash into the pond laughing, the refreshing water flying every which way, cooling us down. Ross takes me by the waist and lifts me into the air, spinning me around, and I start laughing even harder. So hard that I can't see straight, can barely stand up when he releases me. We get deeper and the water is up to my thighs so I just push off and dive in head first. Ross is close behind me, and I can feel him jump in after me as he displaces a great amount of water. We surface and smile at each other again, having real fun for the first time in too long. Ross' eyes glint with pure happiness, bright as the water, soft and smiling. I can't help but wonder how they can be so perfect, strong, just the right shade of purple, like bright irises, always shining with joy.

We bob in the water, just splashing each other and giggling, before I stop it. "I'll race you to the other side," I say. "You know, no one has ever beaten me in a swimming competition before."

"A challenge, eh?" he says. And I remember when he said exactly that only days before, when he first found me in that bush. I wasn't sure if I could trust him back then, but now I know.

"Go!" I say. I whirl around and take off across the pond, and I can hear Ross yell something to me because I got a few seconds head start. I glide through the water, my arms and legs pushing me along, and I immediately know that Ross won't catch up to me. I'm a natural swimmer; I swam often back in District 8 before Mory died. When I turned four, Mory introduced me to the wonders of the water by bringing me to the local swimming pool. It was rarely used; not many people knew how to swim and few cared to learn, so we almost always had the place to ourselves. After Mory's death, I stopped going altogether because I thought it would be too painful, but eventually I couldn't resist anymore. A little piece of my world reopened then, and I realized that staying away had only strengthened my love for the water. Swimming helped me, gave me something to look forward to every day, made coping just a little bit easier. Ever since then, I haven't been able to refuse a visit at least every other day, and my life has grown considerably brighter.

With my eyes open under the fresh water, I effortlessly make my way to victory, to the end of the pond, and walk up to sit along the shoreline. I prop my elbows up on my knees and rest my head in my hands to wait for Ross. He's messily splashing his was across; slowly but surely. I think I've finally found something that Ross doesn't excel in. When he reaches the shallows I allow myself a little chuckle and say, "Should I not say I told you so?"

He surfaces and crawls up to take his spot next to me, managing a superbly wide grin through his panting. "Well that would be gloating now, wouldn't it?"

"In a way, I suppose. But don't I deserve to? After all, I beat _you_;a big, strong guy. That just goes to show that girls can be better than guys, too."

"Point taken," says Ross. "So, I guess you can add me to the longlist of people who have lost to you. And that makes your grand total what exactly?" He looks at me expectantly with that smirk of his.

"Well…you see, I've never actually had a swimming race with anyone before. No one but me ever uses the public pool in District 8, so I haven't had the chance," I confess. "One then. My grand total is one."

His grin widens, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. "You had me fooled. So, that makes this your first win. Congratulations."

"Why, thank you," I say. There's a slight pause. "Is it insane that I think your eyes match the color of the water when they're violet and the water is blue?" We're both silently frozen for a moment. I mentally slap myself in the face. I am an idiot. I can't just blurt out my random thoughts as I think them. Self-control is what keeps people civilized and out of trouble. And I just set myself up for embarrassment. I put my face in my hands and groan, but to my surprise, Ross starts laughing. I can feel the color of humiliation has stained my cheeks, but his reaction forces me to look up at him. The odd thing is I don't think he's laughing at me, at least not in the way I expected him to. He seems genuinely amused by my outburst and continues laughing as I stare at him, astonished. But I still cannot find the words to stop him.

"I was thinking the same thing of you," he says. Then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It's even more unexpected than when he did just this in that bush, and I thought nothing could ever top that. He pulls away to say, "Except that your eyes are blue, so they complement the water even more perfectly." Then I gladly lean in as he pulls my mouth to his again. We're still soaking wet, so our kisses are mixed with dripping water, but it doesn't matter. I slip my arms up around his neck and realize that I have never felt this good. Never. I wonder for a moment if I'm falling in love, and instead of pushing it away I let the question linger, though unanswered. His lips are warm and sweet, gentle but strong, and I don't want to let go. But too early we have to break apart, because the sky is darkening and our perfect afternoon is coming to a close. We untangle ourselves and I smile at him. I planned on saying something witty, but when he smiles back at me my mind goes blank and I can't speak.

Ross helps me up and we start walking along the edge of the water back our little camp. Our joined hands seem to fit together so perfectly I can't imagine them ever being separated, even though that's how they were our entire lives before now. The silence is peaceful as we walk, but I feel like it would be made even better with words. Yet my mind can't find a single one in my vocabulary that could describe what just happened between us. So I simply sigh contentedly. That's how Ross broke our silence before, so maybe it will work now.

But Ross only imitates my sigh and gives a small laugh. "I like this quiet. It's calming, refreshing," he says. So I just smile, rest my head on his shoulder, and let the silence continue.

We finally reach the campsite and start to ready ourselves for sleep. Ross decides to stay awake the first half of the night because I took first watch last night, and I don't stop him. After cleaning up our supplies and putting them into our little backpack, I lay down on my precious grass-bed and close my eyes. I notice that it's not unbearably cold tonight, only slightly chilled, and I'm thankful that I don't have to spend the night shivering. Then light flashes before my closed eyelids and I hear the routine anthem play. I almost forgot. We still have to find out who died today. I sit up and rub my eyes open, then take Ross' hand tightly and watch the sky.

The first face I see is the boy from District 1. That surprises me. He was a Career, and a very muscled guy. But he was extremely cocky and stupid, though, so I shouldn't be too shocked. Next I see the girl from District 4, Coral. Another Career? Something bad must have happened with the pack. Most likely a Gamemaker-made disaster. Then the face of the girl from District 12 flashes above us. The anthem plays and the sky goes dark. I didn't expect so many people to die today. Usually, when the numbers start to dwindle, the tributes become more cautious and few to none die each day. Three may not seem like a lot, but at this point in the Games, it makes a big difference. I guess this Hunger Games is going to be fairly quick. At least compared to the past ones that lasted weeks on end. But, if this is what he meant, Ross was right. It wasn't so hard to watch their faces in the sky tonight. It means I'm just that much closer to coming home alive.

Then I realize something. There were nine of us left yesterday, and three died today, so that means there are only six tributes still standing. What about interviewing the families of the final eight? Does that mean they only visit our six families? Or will they interview the families of us and the last two tributes who died? But that wouldn't make any sense if they're already dead. So what do they do? I don't think this has ever happened before. It's pretty amazing that throughout the entire history of the Hunger Games, there has always been a final eight for long enough to hold the interviews. I would think the chances of that are much lower than the chances of what happened today.

I lie down again and try to get some rest. Ross sits down beside me and starts to gently massage the tense section of my back, between my shoulders. His warm touch helps me to relax and soon enough I'm fast asleep.

My dreams that night are very vague. I'm surrounded by grey, nothing but bleak greyness. I stumble along, unsure of where I am or where I'm going, trying to make sense of my situation. Fatigue and hopelessness eventually overcomes me and I collapse to the ground in a heap of misery. Then, out of the blue, or should I say grey, comes a swarm of black dots. I can't tell if they're insects or clouds or just hallucinations but I know enough to get up and run. I only make it a few steps, though, before the swarm overwhelms me and I'm suffocated by darkness. I wake with a start and find that Ross' forearm is clasped in my fingers and I'm probably cutting off the circulation of blood to his hand.

"It's okay," he says softly. "It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you." I'm gasping for breath even though the dream is gone and am surprised that I didn't wake up screaming. I manage to release Ross' arm and push myself into a sitting position, but I'm shaking all over. There's still a creeping cold slithering through me. "You're fine. It was just a dream. It's over now," Ross continues.

I take a deep breath. "I'm alright. Why don't you get some sleep now?" I ask. I can see in his eyes that he wants to decline, but I give him a look and say, "Please. I can't go back to sleep."

He reluctantly takes his place on the ground and tries to rest. As Ross drifts in an out of slumber I stare at the sky, waiting for the clouds to transform and erupt into a mass of black spots. To find me and swallow me whole again. But they never do. What was my dream supposed to mean anyway? I don't have nightmares that often, and I hadn't had one in the arena until now. I was in a space of pure grey, and had no clue where I was, what I was supposed to do, or what was going to happen next. Is that meant to symbolize oblivion or ignorance? Because I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to do or what's going to happen in the real world either. And the black dots that swallowed me whole, what did they mean? That my fate is to be surprise attacked and killed? I guess that would make sense in the arena, especially since we're nearing the end.

But all these guesses are only guesses. So how would I know what's real and what's simply a guess without a set answer? Is there even a single answer? All this seems to be in vain. There is no way to know what the true answer is. I should stop trying to decipher this; it's only wasting time. It just feels like it's important, that if I figured out the meaning of the dream, it would help me in some way. I just wish that it wasn't so hard. That I knew, for sure, what my dream meant.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter** Seven

When Ross wakes up the next morning our first priority is to come up with a plan of action.

I go down to the pond to refill our bottles and wash myself off in the water. Ross effortlessly spears another rabbit for breakfast, but after that, there's not an animal in sight, anywhere. Even when I go back to find that patch of addicting purple berries it's as if it were never there. So we each eat half a rabbit and split the rest of the berries, the last of our food. We pick some tree leaves to snack on in case we get too hungry to bear and when I try to put it in our little backpack, Ross insists that he do it. I don't understand his motives, but I let him. Ever since he got that backpack from the tribute he killed he hasn't let me anywhere near it. I have no idea what's inside of it besides our emergency snack leaves, some more healing grass, our weapons, a small bottle of iodine, and a box of matches. The only things he's taken out of there – that I've seen – are the iodine, and the box of matches, and that was just to purify water and start our fire. I'm sure the pack came with more than just that inside of it, but it seems he's doing everything he can to keep me from finding out what else is. And that's only making me more curious and determined to find out.

"Alright," Ross begins. "Our main objective is to eliminate the rest of our opponents and ultimately take victory." I nod in agreement. I'm already impressed by his seriousness and obvious experience in this area of matter. "Our first goal will be to abolish the remaining Careers –" the booming of trumpets throughout the arena cuts him off and our heads snap up to face the sky. The Capitol seal hovers in the air as the voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes around us.

"Congratulations to the remaining tributes. You've made it past the final eight! Now, I have a proposal for you all. At nightfall today, a feast will be held at the Cornucopia." I definitely didn't expect a feast at a time like this. This has been a fairly quick Hunger Games so far, and we're already down to the final six. They just had to add more excitement anyway, didn't they?

"There will be something there for each of you, if you wish to take it, but there's a catch. One of you, whom I will not name, does not need anything. You have everything one would need to survive out here. That tribute is not invited to the feast. You know who you are. But if you don't, I trust you'll figure it out in time. Don't be late!" The trumpets play again and the seal fades away.

We don't say anything for a moment; simply take in Claudius Templesmith's announcement.

"Change in plans," Ross says. "It's going to take us a while to get there, so we're going to have to spend the whole day traveling. The Cornucopia is far away."

"You don't think either one of us is the uninvited tribute, do you?" I ask suddenly. "We've survived so far and I don't feel like I'm going to die anytime soon. Unless I'm killed at the feast. But it seems like we're perfectly well off right now. Maybe we shouldn't go." I'm speaking quickly and nervously but I'm too worried to stop.

"Don't worry," he replies. "How could we have everything we need if we're out of food? And I wouldn't exactly call this perfect shelter."

"Well who is it then?" There are only four other possibilities and three of them are Careers. I would think all of the Careers would be together and have everything they need. Unless only one of them has everything they need? But what about the girl from District 3? Could she be the uninvited one? She never seemed too smart or dangerous to me, but I could be wrong.

"I really have no idea," Ross answers, probably thinking the same thing I am. "But we should go. We have a long journey ahead of us and not much time."

Ross slings the backpack over his shoulder and I take the spear since it's too long for the bag. I remember the direction to the Cornucopia, so we walk around the mountain and I lead the way.

My nerves start to set in as we get closer and closer to the feast. What does it really mean to be uninvited to a feast? What would happen if you went? Would you be killed? Would there simply be nothing there for you to take? I've never seen a feast where one tribute wasn't invited. It seems unfair. Even risky. I wonder why they would do such a thing. To test our intelligence, make us really think? I sure hope I've thought hard enough. I certainly wouldn't want to under-think something this important. But Ross was right. How could either one of us be considered perfectly well off when we've run out of food? So it should be safe to go. I just hope we're not completely wrong. Because the odds are rarely in our favor.

A few hours pass with little conversation between us. We walk with our hands at our sides, looking straight ahead; this is no place for affection. What do you say at a time like this? Knowing that one of you will probably be dead within a day or so, maybe in a few hours? I almost wish we had said our goodbyes earlier, so we wouldn't have to betray one another in the end. But not quite. I'm more glad than sorry that we get to spend our last moments together, even if we aren't speaking or touching. We are still with each other.

At some point along the way, it begins to rain, starting out as a soft drizzle, only dampening us slightly. But within the next half hour it turns to torrential downpour and we're soaked in seconds. Our luck just keeps growing.

I want to say something, to start a conversation, but I'm afraid to break this fragile silence. We need to talk soon; we can't go on ignoring our situation. Either we end the alliance now, or we have to deceive each other later on, and even though I don't want to make that decision, I know we have to. It's now or never.

I notice that I'm nervously wringing my wrists and quickly stop. I breathe in slowly then blow out all the air in a huff, and take a moment to clear my mind before I speak. "Ross," I begin, then pause, looking for the words, and the courage, to continue. "We have to do something about this." I put my hand on his arm, forcing him to stop walking and look at me. He seems reluctant, distracted, far away. "We can't go on pretending everything is fine. We're down to the final six; we're on our way to a feast that will, no doubt, be bloody–"

"Stop," Ross says, interrupting me. His tone is not harsh or angry, it's gentle, but it makes me stop and listen. "I knew you'd bring this up soon; we haven't even touched on it yet. And I guess it is time to make a decision." I look into his eyes, clear and just as violet as the night before, pain reflected in the glimmer of the heavy, silver raindrops. It only makes me want to stay with him more, knowing that it hurts him to leave me just as much as it hurts me. How will I survive without him? And, though I don't want to break from him, I don't mean that in a sappy _my-heart-will-die-without-him _kind of way. I mean, having the skill and knowledge of Ross multiplied my chances of surviving these Games by ten. Alone, I don't know if I'll make it past the feast.

As much as I want to live, I know I am being selfish. I can tell just by depth of his eyes that Ross isn't thinking about how this would affect the likeliness of his victory; he's upset over the thought of us separating.

Ross slides our backpack off his arm and it thumps to the ground. Then he kneels on the stone and does what we both know is a part of splitting up; he divides our supplies. He's generous and gives me half of everything even though he did the dirty work to get the bag: half of the clump of healing grass, half of the box of matches, half of the edible leaves, and half of the iodine for purifying water. He also gives me one of the two knives and Spruce's axe. We both know that, though I can barely throw the axe, Ross is much better with the spear than I am, so he keeps that and the remaining knife. But still, he doesn't show me else is in the bag. I'm extremely curious but I have the good sense to forget about it. It would only cause a fight or a scene if I asked or tried to steal the bag from him to peek. Now is not the time. I'll just have to live the rest of my life (or death) wondering what he was hiding from me.

I turn away to slip off my undershirt then put my half of the supplies in it. I tie the top of it in a knot and hope that the patched side doesn't split from the weight and let everything spill onto the ground. Ross zips up his pack and rises to his feet, looking at me sadly.

I reach for his hand and our fingers twine together, seemingly inseparable. But they can't stay joined for long. The most sensible, reasonable choice for us would be to go our separate ways; we both know that, and that's what's killing us most. Ross lifts his hand and rests it on my face, softly caressing my cheek, warm and cold at the same time. Cold in the literal sense: the cool rain and wind do a good job of keeping us nicely chilled. Warm because of the sweetness of the gesture, the warm feeling it gives me; he says through touch what he cannot say aloud.

"I don't want to break this alliance…" I say.

"But we have to," Ross finishes for me, his voice firm. It sounds like he's trying to convince himself of the fact more than me.

I cover his raised hand with mine and close my eyes, allowing myself one last moment to be with him, to feel this way about him. When my eyelids lift and sight is returned to me, I let go of him completely. I can tell by the tenseness of his muscles that it is an effort for him to stay still and silent.

I take in all the oxygen my lungs will hold and release it, trying to focus. This must be done. We have already separated the supplies; now all I have to do is muster up the courage to walk away. I can do this. Love is no longer an option. Not if I want to live.

_Is it worth it to spend your last moments before death with the one you love if you could have lived the rest of your life without them?_

I place one hand gently on Ross' chest and look up at my only ally. "Goodbye, Ross," I say so quietly, it sounds like no more than a shift in the wind. But I don't stay to see if he heard me. I turn on my heel and, though I planned to walk away, I end up running, sprinting, as long and far as I can. I feel tears welling up in my eyes but I push them away, swallow down the sadness. The last thing I need is a moment of weakness that will make sponsors turn from my name in disgust. There are no pity gifts in the Hunger Games. You have to be strong to get their approval and eventually their help. So I try to be just that. I push myself to the highest possible limit and run until my legs are simply no longer capable of holding me up, my eyes free of tears the entire time. When I finally look back, Ross is out of sight. I collapse in a patch of grass, panting and sweating and sore all over.

_What was I thinking? _I just wasted all of my energy, created this seemingly infinite weariness, and I'm going to need as much kick as I can get for the feast tonight. I need to stop acting based purely on emotion and start thinking before doing. My next rash, split-second decision could lead to something much worse than fatigue...


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter **Eight**

I reach the Cornucopia at the same time the tip of the sun touches down on the horizon. There's still a good half-hour before it sets completely and night falls, so I decide to stay put behind my little shrub until then. I scan the area, expecting to see at least one of my opponents somewhere nearby, others who came early for the feast. But there is no one. Surely there must be someone here like me, concealed by a bush, or camouflaged into the ground. Just because I can't see them, doesn't mean they're not there.

_I wonder where Ross is right now. _I try to push away the thought, try to stop thinking of him, but it's no use. My mind always ends up back at him, but there's no harm in an unspoken thought, right? I wonder if he's on his way to the Cornucopia right now, or if he's already here. Would it be wrong to wave to him if I saw him? Probably. I sigh. _Definitely. _I'm not supposed to be making friends with my enemies, especially under such circumstances and in front of the entirety of Panem. And I'm certainly not supposed to be falling in love with them either, but that didn't stop me.

I am such a mess. I've broken so many rules; even though there aren't any official rules, you figure out what is acceptable and what is not, what will help you survive, and what will only hasten your death. So far, the end of my life is rushing toward me at a sickening speed. Maybe if I just act like it never happened, all that stuff between me and Ross, everything will be fine, and no one will suspect a thing. The other tributes will never know, and will go on trying to kill us as usual. The sponsors, the audience, will…

Then a nauseating thought hits me, and all the hope I was starting to build up is gone, taken from me like life in a final breath.

_The cameras._ The hidden watch us, they watch all of us, and they have all along. They already know about me and Ross. How could I have forgotten that the Hunger Games is televised live to all the Districts and the Capitol? All of Panem. There is no privacy, there are no secrets when you're in the arena; every move you make is seen and recorded, especially the interesting ones, the rule-breaking ones. So, basically everything I've done over the past week.

For a moment all I can do is sit there, stunned into thoughtlessness. Time passes and the wind is my only reassurance that this is the real world, that I haven't gone into some realm of dreams, or rather nightmares. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong, all but my death. And suddenly, none of it seems real. I know that surviving past the first day of the Hunger Games has always been an impossibility. I couldn't have fallen in love with Ross, only to leave him and have to face him as an enemy later on. And my entire world, all of Panem, knowing about my rule-breaking mistake with Ross, just can't be true. Everything that has happened in this arena…all that I've come to realize…it's impossible. It's simply not possible that this is reality.

I sink into a ball on my side and firmly wrap my arms about my stomach. That is where I am feeling this, the pain of this terrible dream. If I don't hold it in, it might spill out and drown me, and I will be _suffocated by darkness_, _swallowed whole _by sadness and…_denial. _

I recognize this feeling, this way of giving up and letting bad feelings smother me. And I know from experience if I let this go on much longer there will be no going back. Not for a long, long time. When Mory died, my first reaction was _denial_. I let myself drown, practically offered myself to the beast, until I was so far gone it took all my parents had to get me back. I don't want to go there again; it was a terrible place, quite similar to the swarm in my dream…

I bolt upright as a spark flares inside me, one lonely motive, one single drive. I can't go back there and I won't. I'll do what it takes to win, I will fight until the darkness is gone and all that's left is a shining crown waiting for me at the end. I can't just give myself up so easily, after everything that's happened.

I'm not that weak.

I notice my shadow has faded in with the overall darkness and look up; the last blood-red sliver of the sun is almost gone beneath the horizon. Only a minute or so until the feast. I focus all my energy and heart and soul, channel it towards one thought. _Stay alive. _I repeat the words over and over in my head and take several deep breaths. _Breathe in…stay alive…breathe out. Breathe in…stay alive…breathe out. _

My family is waiting for must want me to come home. Suddenly I feel guilty that I haven't thought of them in almost a week. Then I remember where I am. Again. I seem to keep forgetting that I'm trapped in an arena full of people who want to kill me. I feel a bit less culpable now; I have a pretty good excuse for being preoccupied.

I wonder what my parents are thinking right now. Are they watching me at his very moment? Or are they busy at work in the flower shop? Do they still love me as much as they did before I left? I have killed someone. Does that make them think less of me? If I came home, if I won, would life be the same with them? Or would they forever be afraid of me, and think that the Games had made a monster of me?

No. They love me. They can't stop loving their only living child because I took the life of another to save my own. I had no choice; it was purely self-defense. They would be proud of me. I bet they didn't expect me come home, and still don't. I can picture myself walking through the door, and being bombarded with hugs and kisses and praise. And a lot of tears. Maybe, if I return home, I can have my life back. Maybe I'll finally be able to let go of Mory and move on, make friends, fall in love… If I can find the strength to let go of Ross as well.

I know things will never be exactly as they once were, but they could be better than before I left. We would have more money than we could ever need, and a wonderful new home. We could have a fresh start. A clean slate. No more loss, hardship, sadness; only relief that I made it home, joy for our newly earned riches, and excitement for what the future will surely bring. And I want that for my family. Even though my family only includes Mom and Dad, I want to make them happy. My victory could be that missing puzzle piece, the thing that makes everything that was broken by Mory's passing come back together again. It would fix not only my life, but the lives of my devastated parents, who have been waiting for some good fortune, for some reason to be happy again for five years. Five _very _long years.

It's time.

I hear a barely audible click below the ground near the Cornucopia and hold my breath, listening, waiting. Then the smooth stones open up and a long table erupts from beneath, the ground closing neatly behind it. It happens so fast that for a moment I wonder if it was there all along.

It's dark wood and looks to seat about fourteen people, but there are no chairs around it. How are we supposed to sit and eat with no chairs? And instead of there being platters piled sky-high with honey-roasted turkey and creamy mashed potatoes, the surface is clear. The varnish shimmers, catching a ray of light and throwing it back, into my eyes. I blink to shut out the blinding light and when I look back there are five porcelain plates carefully laid out across the table. Only one of them actually has food on it, which is odd, since this is a feast. Another has three huge filled water bottles. The one furthest from me has a deep blue fabric bundle on top. Beside that is a small bottle of some milky liquid with a label on the side that I can't read. The last dish holds something I have never before seen in the Hunger Games, and just the idea of it scares me. A long dark sleek gun.

All this runs through my head in a few seconds and I don't have time to wonder who the gun is for. I take a quick sweeping glance around me and burst out of my bush, running full speed toward the table. I'm a few yards away when I see someone else coming from the other side, from behind the Cornucopia. I only look for a split second, afraid of losing my focus, but I can tell from their heavy tread and large build that it is one of the remaining guys.

I skid to a stop in front of the expensive wood and almost slam into the side. _What do I take?_ I don't have time to think through all the aspects of my situation right now, and figure out what I need the most. I have only the time to grab something and go. What did the Gamemakers put there for me? What do they think I need? _What do I take?_

The panic starts to set in as the boy, the one from District 2 I now see, reaches the table. He looks right at me and I instinctively try to free my knife from my little sack. I got lucky with this before, maybe the same will happen now.

_Please work…_

Something smashes into me from behind and I fall to my hands and knees in surprise. I immediately flip over and see a quite familiar blonde braid swing around, the tip grazing my cheek. Marsipan grins, but somehow it just doesn't seem genuine. I try to jump to my feet, still fumbling around my sack for the knife, but she kicks me square in the chest and I fly back to the ground, my breath nearly gone. I manage to get up before she reaches me again and take a swing at her face. But she easily ducks and I miss by a mile. My other hand balled into a fist, I don't waste a second before sending an audible blow to her stomach.

I smile to myself because that was pure instinct, and I probably wouldn't have done it if I were thinking straight. Ironic, isn't it?

Then I regret it as she regains her balance and lunges at me, blazing red rage and loathing in her eyes. She rakes her nails down the side of my neck and even though I try to swallow it down, I can't stop myself from screaming in pain, the warm blood dripping down my skin and into my jumpsuit. I grab her wrists and push her hands away, but she leaps at me again with astonishing force and we fall to the ground. I try to wrestle her off of me, but she's a lot stronger than she looks, and it doesn't work. So I abruptly jerk her to the side, using all the strength I have, and roll on top of her. I move up so all of my weight is on her already-damaged stomach, hoping to pin her down. Then I reach for my bag and my fingertips almost immediately brush against my knife. _Yes…_

She uses my moment of distraction to roll over again, throwing me off, and jumps to her feet. I roll a little ways away from her and towards the Cornucopia to buy some time to get up as well.

As Marsipan runs toward me I sense that my life is seriously in danger now. I can almost see the plan forming in her head. By the look in her eyes, the eager twitching of her hands, the same black smile on her face. And suddenly I'm scared for my life. _Absolutely terrified. _And I know she can tell.

I back up as fast as my feet will allow, until I ram into something cold and hard and I know she has me cornered. Marsipan's hands close around my throat and she lifts me a few inches into the air, my spine pressed against what can only be the Cornucopia. Even though it's useless and I know it, my fingers go straight to hers, trying to pry them off of my neck.

"You know," she says, "I'm actually glad I didn't kill him before. Your _ally_, I mean." The twinkle in her eye and the way she says '_ally' _tells me she knows that me and Ross are, or were, more than just friends. "We both know you knew it was me back on the mountain. When Ross chased after me," she pauses to smirk at me, but her tone is deep and _very_ serious, like cold, rough stones. I'm hopelessly gasping for air and clawing at her hands, but she remains perfectly composed and continues. "I wanted him to be _my _ally. He was good-looking, strong, seemed like he knew what he was doing. But _you _took him. That was not a wise decision." Then she starts to laugh, but it's a dark, cruel sound. "And now he can watch you die before I kill him."

My eyes flash behind her and I see Ross, running towards us in fear and panic. Fear and panic for _me. _"Roia!" he yells. But I know he's too far away and won't reach me in time. I'm dizzy and lightheaded but I force my eyelids to stay up, for just a little bit longer. My hands drop to my sides and Marsipan looks at me in satisfaction, knowing I must have given up.

And in that moment I make a decision that I will both regret and rejoice at the same time. As my adrenaline doubles, pumping its way through my veins, I reach for my bag with one hand. Marsipan is too busy telling me how I had it coming, how it's all over for me, to notice a thing. I would take a deep, centering breath if I could, but her hand is currently blocking my airways, so I simply clear my mind and tell myself I can do this. I have to do this.

"Roia!" Ross yells again, still very far away. He thinks I am going to die.

Then I do something I didn't know I had been planning all along. Already gripping the handle of my knife, I whip it out of my bag. And I drive the blade straight through Marsipan's chest, twisting it sharply to the side for good measure. She shrieks and her eyes widen to saucers and start to gloss over. She drops to her knees, releasing me, and I collapse in a heap, drawing in as much air as I can, gasping and panting and choking.

She looks so sad and shocked and defeated for a moment I think she might start crying. But she is not one to end in tears. She still looks strong as she lifts her head and manages a few last words. "You…have fun winning." And even as she's dying she smiles, and I can only think one thing.

_Does she know something I don't?_

* * *

><p><strong>Hey there, readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because there's plenty more to come. And just a reminder...please review! It lets me know that there's actually a reason for me to keep posting chapters, and that I'm not just putting up this story that no one's going to read. Constructive criticism always gladly accepted.<strong>_  
><em>

**Thanks for reading! :D**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter** Nine

Just like Spruce, I watch Marsipan die with a knife stuck in her, blood seeping out around the handle, spreading across her jumpsuit. It's a sad sight, but when the cannon fires I don't feel as horrible and emotionless as I did when I killed Spruce with the adrenaline of the moment. The fact that I don't feel far from normal makes me sick.

It's still extremely difficult and dreadfully painful for me to breathe; it feels as though my lungs have dried out and my neck was run over by a ten-ton truck. I'm afraid to speak; I imagine it would feel as though someone had shoved a saw down my throat and was yanking it back and forth, ripping me apart. That is, if I even had a reason to talk.

I know I am exhausted and need food and water. I know I need to regain my footing and get over the pain in my throat. I know that I still need to get through these last few minutes, or hours, or days. Who knows how much longer I'll be in this arena? I wish I could just lie there and fall asleep, forget about everything and everyone.

But the Hunger Games is not over.

I take a deep, scratchy breath and stand. All that has happened since I got to the Cornucopia has only taken a few short minutes. Now Marsipan is dead and I am injured and Ross is getting closer. And others are surely nearby.

The feast table lies untouched except for one thing. The plate that was occupied by bottled water is now empty and broken; whoever wanted that water wanted it badly. They must have taken it during my battle with Marsipan, when I was too busy to pay attention to my surroundings. What surprises me is that no one else is here. At least, they're not close enough for me to see. And none of the other plates have been bothered. I realize that now is probably the best time for me to take something, but I'm not sure what to grab. My mind races with options, decisions.

Then I hear a loud sound, kind of a mix between a crash and a thump, that makes me snap around to find the source. On the far side of the Cornucopia, Rowan and the boy from District 2 are fighting, sword against mace. That's got to be a dangerous combination. I realize what the crash/thump was when it happens again; Rowan swings his mace around with all his strength and it smashes into the metal of the golden horn, sparks literally flying from the collision, missing the boy from 2 by an inch and making him jump back and ram into the Cornucopia as well. _Crash…thump. _

I can't force myself to look away until Rowan's mace finally strikes home, practically knocking the boy from 2's head right off his shoulders. And by then I've lingered too long, even if the entire fight only lasted about fifteen seconds.

Ross is finally about to reach the table, but so is the girl from District 3. _What do I take? What do I take? _My mind is in a whirlwind and I don't know what to do. Ross gets there first and immediately after comes the girl from District 2. She grabs his shoulder and jerks him backwards, so he falls on his rear end, but he trips her with his arm as she tries to run in front of him. I think I have a moment to decide, what with Ross and the girl from 2 distracted, but I find I am wrong.

My hand is extended toward the table when I see very fast movement out of the corner of my eye. I instinctively turn and run, and just in time because Rowan is after me, but without his mace. I see it broken a few feet away from the Cornucopia; the unforgiving metal must have been too much for it to stand. Suddenly I'm scared again, as I was just before Marsipan attempted to strangle me. When I look over my shoulder, Rowan is sprinting at me, almost close enough to touch, his face a mask of anger and murder. His muscles are tight and the violet of his veins is visible through his skin. I can see in his eyes how much he wants to kill me and I can feel myself wither beneath his gaze. But I keep running, all the way around the Cornucopia.

I think I might actually have a sliver of a chance because Rowan hasn't caught up to me yet, when I feel something brush against my back. Before I can do anything, Rowan grabs hold of the loose fabric of my suit and abruptly stops, even starts to walk backwards, pulling me back and onto the ground. I scramble about, screaming at the top of my lungs, arms and legs thrashing, doing anything I can to try to free myself. But Rowan just locks onto my upper arm with his strong fingers and drags me backwards as if I weigh nothing. With the other hand he snatches away my bag and shows just a hint of a smile before he throws it, hard, so as it falls it catches on the pointed horn of the Cornucopia. I remember Spruce's axe a moment too late; it's in my bag hanging from the tip of the golden horn. I feel as though my luck just couldn't get any worse.

I continue thrashing around, screaming, my fear only growing. Soon there are tears streaming down my cheeks that I can't stop. I see that Rowan is dragging me back to the feast table, his eyes trained on one dish in particular. The gun. I scream even louder and cry until I can't see anymore because I know I am going to die, and nothing else matters anymore. It doesn't make a difference if I die with dignity, I'm going to die. I won't be remembered. I'm just like every other tribute who didn't make it.

Suddenly I feel the pressure on my arm slacken, Rowan's pace decrease, and I try to look back to see what's wrong. Then he stops altogether and his painful grip is gone. I take the opportunity to jump to my feet, and am about to run away when I see Ross standing over Rowan, who has a spear through his stomach. My eyes widen and I look around; I thought Ross was occupied with the girl from 2. But I see her lying on the ground in a crumpled heap, obviously dead. He _is _a killer.

I look at Ross in shock before turning as fast as I can and running away. "Wait! Roia!" he yells to me, trying to catch up. But he's holding a spear, the one he just removed from Rowan, so I keep going. My mind flashes back to every moment we spent together over the past week. I thought he loved me, I thought I loved him. How could I be so silly as to think something like that? We're in the Hunger Games, where everyone wants to win. People will do or say anything to live, and no one _loves _their opponents. He tricked me, and now he's going to kill me. _He's going to kill me._

Why did it take me so long to realize?

I reach the table and look over its contents. I've had people try to kill me so many times recently, the shock of it has worn off. Now all I can feel is anger. Cold, dark fury that rises inside of me, filling my mind with the desire to kill Ross. Because he pretended to love me.

All those moments, those feelings, those things he said to me…were lies. Was he using me to stay alive until right near the end? So that he could be sure, when the final battle came, I wouldn't dare hurt him? Whatever his reasoning, he lied. He laughed with me and kissed me and looked me right in the eye and lied. I hold back the tears I feel in the back of my eyes. None of it was real._ It was all an act._ Well that was a big mistake on his part. Because now he is going to pay.

All this passes through my mind in a second and I immediately know what I want from that feast table. I grab what I hope will be my ticket out of here and spin around to face Ross. He looks confused, surprised, almost hurt, for a moment, before he meets my eyes. But no amount of pain or hurt from him is going to convince me that he's not a liar. I'm not falling for that again.

Funny how, only days ago, my only hope was that I wouldn't have to face Ross in the end. And now here we are, by choice, and I am going to kill him. I _want _to kill him. It's amazing how much a person can change in a few days. But I guess I'm the one who changed, who learned from this experience. Ross was always like this: an actor, a liar, no better than a Career.

"Roia, wh –" Ross begins, complete shock in his tone. But I shake it off and focus on the anger, the betrayal.

"Don't," I interrupt him. "Just don't." He looks at me with those violet eyes and I remember the water. I remember the feel of his lips on mine. I remember everything. And I remember that it was a lie.

I raise my arm, pointing the smooth, black gun at his chest. His eyes flicker down to it, and I see some of the fear drain from them. _This is a real gun. Why aren't you afraid? _Then I realize something. I don't know how to use a gun. I've only ever seen them carried by peacekeepers, and they never actually used them, only had them.

But I have seen them _prepare_ to use them. That should be enough. I try to think back to that one day when, on the way home from school, I passed a group of peacekeepers doing drills. They marched quite stiffly, switched the positions of their long guns around, and pretended to shoot would pull the gun out then point it in front of them… _Think, think, think._ Then they would flick a switch on the back of the gun!

A switch! I look down at the rear end of the gun. It's very complicated; what if I flick the wrong switch and shoot myself? I try to stop myself from panicking. I don't want to take too long but I don't want to panic and mess up. So I pull back the switch that looks right to me and look back up at Ross. The gun _clicks _and I know that was the right one.

Ross has taken a few steps away and I move forward, pointing the gun at him again. "Don't even think about it!" His eyes flash and what I see isn't much different from what I saw before, yet it still hurts; betrayal, shock, anger, fear. I just have to remind myself that it's not real. He's only faking.

Keeping my eyes firmly trained on him, I think back to the peacekeeper drills, trying not to show my cluelessness. What next? They pull back the switch, then…do something to the bottom. What did they do to the bottom? _Think, THINK! _

"Roia, I just wa –" Ross tries to speak again.

"Shut up!" I yell in frustration. Then more quietly, "Please." _I'm trying to think._ They pull out the bottom and put it back in? No, they don't pull it out all the way, just about halfway, then shove it back in. I try to recreate the scene in my head and hear a convincing snap. I hope that's all I need to do.

Amazingly, all of this has only wasted about a minute or so of my time.

I place my finger on the trigger and focus. "You lied to me," I say. Ross lets out a breath, looking guilty but sorry. The latter of which I know he's not. "You were pretending." He looks like he wants to explain but I won't let him. "You never loved me. Now, I don't know if I loved you, because I never knew the real you. But I do know that you tricked me. And I am not letting you get away with that." He now looks confused and shocked. "This may be the Hunger Games, but that does make what you did to me okay. I will _never _forgive you." Just as the first tear rolls down my cheek, I pull the trigger. The force of the blast sends my flying back, onto the hard stones. Then I start really sobbing. I see Ross, on the ground in pooling blood. I think of how I loved him. How amazing that was. How I would do it all again if I could. But he's dead now. I killed him. Because he didn't really love me.

My mind starts to swirl and blur as I hear a far off voice saying my name. "Congratulations to Roia Lovette, this years' Hunger Games victor…" Even though I must have known it was coming somewhere inside, the shock of that sentence hits me so hard, I would probably fall down if I wasn't already on the ground.

Is this really happening? Did I really just _win the Hunger Games? _How is this possible? _Is _this possible?

I'm seriously wondering if I'm in a dream when the hovercraft appears above me. A ladder drops down and I have no choice but to step onto it and let it take me away from the arena. When I get to the inside I'm taken by a few people in white suits who I immediately detest. But I don't know why.

"Let go of me!" I yell, yanking my arms from their grasp and trying to flee. But there isn't much of anywhere to go, and I don't know where I'm going. Another white-coated man comes from somewhere in front of me and grabs me forcefully by the shoulders, sparing the others just enough time to catch up and take me from behind. I'm struggling and surrounded by arms on every side, but I can't move, there are too many of them. I feel a sharp pinch in my left forearm and am about to yell at the person who did it when I start to feel lightheaded and suddenly I can't find the strength to stand anymore. I black out as I fall.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, guys! So, I know the tone of these past few chapters has really changed, and it may seem as thought the happiness has drained from the story. But, sorry to say, that was intentional. What I want to know from you all is how you like it. Did it ruin the story for you? Do you not want to continue reading? Did it heighten the excitement, and leave you on the edge of your seat? Is my gloomy writing not as strong as my joyous? Now, I don't want to hound you with questions - even though I really already have - but I just want to know what YOU think of the story. The best way for me to improve is feedback, so please...REVIEW!<strong>

**Thanks :D**


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